


The Wheatley Parable

by Thursdays_Dove



Category: Portal (Video Game), The Stanley Parable, and a dash of Groundhog Day
Genre: Friendship, Shenanigans, Wheatley redemption in some form or another, and asks that you kindly forgive her, and highjinks, but you may not get all the references, can technically be read without any prior knowledge of the Stanley Parable, gratuitous manual overrides on the fourth wall, that the author is no good at picking out tags, the Narrator also wishes to inform you, tomfoolery, various pop culture references wherever the Author and/or Narrator see fit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24130993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thursdays_Dove/pseuds/Thursdays_Dove
Summary: This is the story of a core named "Wheatley". That's it. That's all there is. Would you like to know more? [YES] [NO]
Relationships: the Narrator wishes to announce that there will be no shipping in his story - not even actual ships
Comments: 20
Kudos: 67





	1. The Introduction

This is the story of a core named "Wheatley".

Wheatley worked at a science facility that resided deep underground in an old salt mine, where he was Personality Construct #427.

Personality Construct #427's job was simple: he sat inside a booth for monitoring the vitals of the human test subjects in Extended Relaxation, and pushed buttons on a control panel. Instructions came to him through a monitor on his desk, telling him which buttons to push, how long to push them, and in what order. He never thought about what any of the buttons did, because he did not care.

This is what Personality Construct #427 did every day, of every month, of every year. And although he considered it boring, mindless, and otherwise soul-rending, for Wheatley it was an easy way to complete a day's work. Perhaps it would even one day lead to that big promotion he knew he deserved. Over time, Wheatley came to relish every moment that the instructions came in, even though he often felt like he was meant for something greater.

And Wheatley... was content.

And then one day, something very peculiar happened.

Something that would forever change Wheatley.

Something he would never quite forget.

He had been in his booth, minding his business in sleep mode, when a sudden, frightful, all-encompassing tremor shook him out of his stupor. This was followed by three things happening at the same time: a loud automated announcement that the reactor core was in the process of melting down; a cacophony of alarms reinforcing that announcement; and the dawning realization that no one had given him any instructions, told him he was doing anything wrong, or even called him a moron in at least the last five minutes. Never in all his life had this happened, this complete isolation - nor the alarms blaring that the reactor core was about to explode.

Something was very clearly wrong.

Shocked, frozen solid, Wheatley found himself unable to move for the longest time - and that was saying something, seeing as he had just been sitting there, motionless, for nearly 99999- years.

But as he came to (what he believed to be) his wits and regained (what he thought was) his senses, he pulled himself up on his management rail and rolled out of his booth.


	2. The Beginning of the End

Rolling out of his booth and into the corridor, the first thing Wheatley noticed, aside from the alarming tremors and tremulous alarms, was that everything was dark. And covered in strange vegetation. And that the place was deserted. Either that, or everyone was playing a very good game of hide-and-seek, which he was not very much appreciating at the moment. Or perhaps he had simply missed a memo. If anyone could be bothered to loop him in on what was happening, he would be glad to go back into his observation booth and get on with things.

Another thought gave Wheatley pause. What if this was just a prank?

"Okay, ha-ha, joke's on me. You can- you can all come out now. If you're all hiding and this is some- some _prank_ , I can tell you right now that I do _not_ find it funny, not funny at all," he called as he milled about aimlessly, turning every which way and blinking through the darkness, which was lit only by the occasional flickering overhead light and the residual blue aura of his own glowing optic. Too bad he couldn't use his flashlight - he had been told it would kill him if he did.

He continued calling out into the darkness, but no one continued to be there. No one at all. All of his coworkers - all of the scientists, the other cores, everyone - were gone. What could it all mean? Wheatley began to feel panic - _real panic_ \- crawling through his circuits, like a virus, threatening to take him over. What would he do? Was there no one here to guide him? All he knew was sitting in his booth, interacting with the button interface. And now the fate of everything - or at least his very own personal fate - was in his own figurative hands.

But wait. He could do this. He would be able to get out of here, but to do that, he would need the help of a human test subject. Before being reassigned to the Extended Relaxation observation booth, he had once worked with the test subjects, had seen some of the testing chambers, even had some vague understanding of how they were all put together and how the tests themselves were completed. He even thought he remembered where he might find an Aperture Science Handheld Portal Device, which he knew would be needed because-.. well, how else was one to get out of a giant underground science facility that was about to blow up?

Wheatley knew he needed to get down to the Extended Relaxation pods. He would figure out everything else once he got there, but at least now he had a plan in place - a loose plan, but a plan all the same. This gave him enough fortitude to continue along his rail, all the while hoping that he had enough time to find a human test subject, rouse them from cryosleep, guide them to the ASHPD, and together find their way out before the entire place went up in smoke.

As Wheatley came to a set of two management rails, he took the rail on his left.

"Wait-..." he said out loud to himself, pausing at the junction, "Wait, that rail looks pretty bad."

And indeed it was. The rail was bent, rusted, covered in vines and other decaying matter he had yet to identify. All in all stuff he really didn't want getting into his gears. The rail to the right, however, seemed to be in much better shape. He could still get down to Extended Relaxation if he took the rail to the right, but it would take longer, much longer. It would probably take much more time than he seemed to think he had. The rail on his left would be a much more direct route and would save him a whole lot of time. So Wheatley took the rail on his left.

He hesitated.

_"PLEASE PREPARE FOR EMERGENCY EVACUATION."_

"Left it is!"

And then he took the rail on his left.

He picked his way around the ravaged rails, grimacing as he felt something organic, something _moist_ , slide along the top of his casing. Instinctively, he pulled all of his panels in tighter against his core. This _stuff_ \- whatever it was - just might be the only thing worse than those leaky, squishy, smelly humans, he thought. Really, the organic matter surrounding him was not all that different, but at least a human would be able to help him out instead of just hanging around like it owned the place.

Wheatley went on like this for a while, negotiating his way around similar obstacles, until he reached the uppermost level of Extended Relaxation pods.

This was it. Inside, a human would be waiting to be awakened from cryosleep. Inside, a human would be ready and waiting to help him escape. All he had to do was plug into the door interface, enter the command to manually awaken the test subject in the room, and wait for them let him in (a bit backwards, that, but among Aperture Laboratories' many policy inconsistencies, they did respect the privacy and personal space of their test subjects). Wheatley considered himself good at entering in commands - a master hacker, one might even say. He had been instructed closely on how to do so for a good few years, after all, so he rather felt he was deserving of the status of Master Hacker.

"All right, let's just-.. Oh no..." he breathed, suddenly deflating, his cyan optic shrinking down to a pinprick of light upon coming to a horrible realization.

Both this pod and its human contents were no longer viable.

The vault door that was used for sealing in the test subject, allowing them to fully submerge into cryosleep and therefore preserving their meaty body, was compromised. Shoots of vegetative growth had pried open the door, somehow. How in all of science was that even possible? It shouldn't be possible, he thought, not possible at all. These doors were built with triple - no, quadruple - reinforced steel, sealed tightly with the latest and greatest in liquid rubber sealant technology.

Perhaps _not_ the latest and greatest, as the rubber had broken down enough to allow the vines to worm their way through and caused the entire vault door to become misaligned. But perhaps the human inside would still be intact. Perhaps they would even still be alive. Who knew? Humans were sometimes capable of amazing things, things like-.. oh, building robots for one, that seemed to be a fine achievement on their part. His list admittedly came up short after that, but perhaps they were also capable of surviving a compromised cryosleep.

But as Wheatley struggled against the dislodged door and managed to wedge his way in, he soon came to realize that mankind's greatest achievements did indeed begin and end with their invention of robots. He took one look at the sludgy mush that remained and turned away in such a hurry that he forgot to duck back through the partially-opened door and clocked himself so hard he saw sparks.

"GAHH! OhGodohGodohGodohGod- OWW! Ohhh, thank God for that. Ohhhh, I hope that broke my optical memory, because there is _no_ unseeing that. Mm mm," he shuddered.

He didn't realize it was possible for humans to be any more disgusting, but decomposition sure did the trick. Poor sod. Well, he or she - or they, Wheatley was not one to judge - was certainly akin to sod now, at any rate. May they rest in peace...s.

He really hoped he could find a human that was more or less intact, or at least not in the process of rotting into a mattress. That would be preferable.

The second pod he checked revealed that a great deal of the pod had decayed and crumbled away - and along with it, its human occupant. He gazed into the gaping, foggy abyss before backing out slowly.

This was absurd. Wheatley knew that in some things, Aperture liked to cut corners, but this seemed to him like someone had really dropped the ball, and for once it wasn't him. Not that he ever dropped the ball, mind you, but if there were balls to be dropped in this instance, they had been dropped massively and by someone else.

Some part of him wanted to feel a sense of relief - after all, this was not his fault. In fact, none of it was. Not the poorly designed sealant, not the dilapidated state of the facility, and most certainly not the fact that no one had bothered to alert him to this situation before things got this point. He was the one sitting in front of the monitor, keeping tabs and taking orders. How could any of this possibly be his fault? Just wait until the management found out about this.

Oh God, Wheatley thought. What if the management found out about this?! What if this was some kind of test? Shocked, unraveled, Wheatley wondered in disbelief who orchestrated this. What if he was supposed to be _actually_ keeping track of the vitality of all the test subjects? But why should he have been bothered with all that when the only thing in his job description was to push buttons? But still, what if they were still up there and they had been keeping tallies on him all this time? This would be 10,000 black marks against his record, easy.

But maybe if he found one - at least one - survivor, he could bring his record back out of the red. Maybe even earn himself a gold star. A promotion. Or, in the event that everyone in the facility really was dead and the reactor core really was on the verge of exploding, he would at least make it out alive. Judging by the ongoing quakes, he was betting on the latter, but he was not willing to place all his full houses down on the table either.

But was everyone really dead? Surely, they couldn't _all_ be. There had to be at least _one_ test subject that was still alive. And indeed there was, but there was no way Wheatley would have ever known which test subject this was, nor which pod to look in. True, each of the pods was labeled with the test subject's ID#, but there was still no way for Wheatley to guess which one. There were literally 10,000 pods. Statistically, it would be nearly impossible to ever guess blindly which one housed the only living occupant. He would have had to go through and check each one, were it not for the fact that the only subject left alive was Test Subject #2845.

Armed with that impossible knowledge, Wheatley now knew he could make a beeline straight for that pod. All he had to do was head straight back, take the rail down four levels, take an immediate right, take row 13, and from there it was a straight shot down 42 pods for him to reach the correct pod.

But Wheatley just could not help himself. He just had to run around and check each and every pod along the way, even though he knew it was a fruitless effort and that he was only wasting his own time. It wasn't like he was in a hurry to get anywhere or on a time crunch or anything. No, instead, he would rather run around doing sweet FA. Perhaps he needed a good broom closet to stand around in as a better use of his time. Or perhaps, even better, he needed a smart reminder that the reactor core was still on the verge of melting down.

_"PLEASE PREPARE FOR REACTOR CORE MELTDOWN."_

"Ahhh! Okay, okay, 2845, I'm on my way!"

Eager to get back to business, he hurried back, took his rail down four levels, took an immediate right, down to row 13, and rushed straight onward past 42 pods until he reached Test Subject #2845's pod. Curiously enough, this pod and this pod alone seemed to be in fantastic shape - not to mention fully sealed and fully operational.

Out of breath, simulated as it was, he wanted to sit there for a moment to compose himself, still not entirely confident about what he would find on the other side. It was strange, but.. he almost felt as though someone were watching him, which made him infinitely more nervous. He did not like it when someone stood looking over his chassis, watching him work. It made him feel pressured, like being judged in real time. It was absolutely absurd to think that someone else could be there at all, much less standing around in the shadows watching him do what he knew he had to be doing anyway. Here he hesitated again, unable to shake the feeling. He turned, glancing around the empty catwalks and deserted management rails, sure that if he watched for long enough, sooner or later someone would show themselves. He might have even sat there doing so all day, if he had been given the time.

But as more alarms began to go off, he hastily pushed away the feeling, plugged himself into the door interface, and began entering the commands to wake up Test Subject #2845.


	3. The End of the Beginning

Wheatley had a lot to ponder as he drifted there in space. Things like, was it true that there were more trees on Earth than there were stars in the Milky Way? It didn't seem feasible from where he was standing - floating, rather. It didn't seem like that many trees could fit on one planet or that they would outnumber the stars in the Milky Way, because he could not even begin to count that high. That, and the only reason he even knew that the Milky Way was not just something you got out of a vending machine was because ol' Spacey had told him only about a hundred times in the last thirty minutes. Besides, the Earth looked awfully small and fragile - not quite as small and fragile as he was, but small and fragile all the same. Like a large glass marble, ready to shatter, the same way his whole world had been shattered.

He also pondered how many emotions there were and how many could he, as a mechanical being, possibly feel. There seemed to be even more emotions than there were trees on Earth. And it seemed a bit extraneous to him that he should have been programmed to feel much at all, but there he was, feeling all of them. He had to be feeling all of them - all of the bad ones, anyway. He could feel them orbiting around inside of him the same way he was orbiting around the Earth, spinning around helplessly, the gravity of everything holding them in place, condensing them down. Forcing him to see. Forcing him to feel. Forcing him to remember. Organized chaos.

Anger was what he had felt the most at first. Anger – because how could she have done this to him? Really, Lady, the _moon_? Did she have to shoot him out into space like that? And couldn't she have at least grabbed him and pulled him back in? It couldn't have been _that_ hard. If he had had arms, he could have – _would_ have - done it, so why couldn't she?

It was because she hadn't even tried. She had let him go, just like that - just like all the others who had left him in that booth to rot, to die. And after everything he had done for her. If it weren't for him, she would still be in cryosleep and, most likely by this point, blown to smithereens. If it weren't for him, she never would have found that stupid portal gun that she had so casually wielded against him. So he had only needed her at first to help him get out, if he was honest, fair enough, but still-.. He had literally risked his life - had been _crushed_ , for science's sake - for her. Her and her lies. And all he had asked in return was that she - that _someone_ \- congratulate him on his achievements for once. That was literally all he had asked. Literally all he had wanted. For someone to cheer him on at finally becoming something bigger, better, than that useless little sphere that they had shut away in the Extended Relaxation observation booth.

And now here he was, stuck orbiting the bloody _moon_ , of all things. His final frontier. The ultimate cast away and castaway (for truly both spellings fit his situation, he felt). He was stuck here, floating around the Earth with its happy little trees which outnumbered the stars in the Milky Way. Stuck here forever with his thoughts and memories and not much else besides Spacey and the vast infiniteness of space and time, something which might have humbled a lesser intelligent being, but for he, Wheatley, it was like a big, in your face reminder of all the things he had been, and all the things he never would be. It was like a reminder of all the mistakes - the _choices_ \- he had made, all the things that had led him here to this moment. There were no happy accidents for him - only mistakes.

After that thought, he cried. At least, he thought he was crying, not that he had any actual tears to shed nor the ability to shed them, but all the same, he was crying, hard. His little space companion naturally remained ignorant of his grief, and for that Wheatley was actually grateful. He barely had the capacity to grasp his own emotions, let alone the fact that he had so many of them, let alone try to explain them to someone else, let alone to someone who was so oblivious to anything going on around him - except for the fact that space was going on all around them and that was, in fact, what the little corrupted core was obsessed with, them being in space and all, but-..

Well, he forgot where his thoughts were going at that point and that might have been a good thing, except he thereafter descended into something much deeper, much darker than either his previously angry thoughts or the deep, dark void in which he now resided. The void which opened up now and swallowed him whole was none other than depression. Depression was nothing new to Wheatley - he had felt it over the span of his life, but usually it came in short bursts after being reassigned to a task that he hated. That could more accurately be described as sulking, in retrospect, because this, what he was feeling now, was the real deal. His thoughts spiraled inward and downward, coiling upon itself, until it became so tightly wound, the whole thing snapped back and he was right back at feeling angry again.

He became aware at this point that there was this human thing called the five stages of grief and that he was oscillating back and forth, among, and between all of them in rapid succession. It didn't seem to matter that he was not actually human - he had been built by humans and they had apparently seen fit to instill upon him every imaginable horrid thing they could think of. And of course, whenever he wasn't busy feeling so angry his circuits felt hotter than the sun or feeling so depressed his gears felt colder than space itself, there was also boredom. And perhaps that was the biggest, most troublesome of them all, because not only was it.. well.. boring.. but it also forced him to endlessly cycle through all of these emotions. It also forced him to realize that he _was_ actually grieving.

Yes, he was grieving, mostly for himself at first, but over time he began to realize that he was also grieving for the lady - well, everything he had done to her, anyway, because he had no way of knowing whether or not she had survived and he did not want to think about that possible outcome. In either case, she had been the closest thing he had ever had to a friend - even if she had not caught him when he detached from his rail or when she rolled her eyes at him for wanting her turn around while he hacked open doors for her. Or, heck, even when she had smashed all his monitors and refused to test the way he wanted her to, he still, after all of that, considered her his friend.

And he had betrayed her. Made her test. Tried to kill her. So she may not have ever smashed his monitors, refused to test for him, and tossed him out into space if he had never betrayed her first - but-.. no, hadn't _she_ betrayed _him_ first? Had she not run off on an adventure without him and with that stupid potato instead? No, no, it was _his_ idea to be plugged into the mainframe, and she - just like a good old friend, not that he had any basis for comparison where that was concerned - had listened to him without question, had trusted him, and he-... he had betrayed her and punched her down an elevator shaft. True, in his mind he had been aiming for the potato and not her, but still. This - all of this - was entirely his fault.

More than anything, more than all the things he had pondered or could possibly ponder going forward, he wondered if things could have been different. What could he possibly have done differently that would have made any sort of difference whatsoever? Which of his actions could have led to different consequences? Really, his actions spoke for themselves, but the more he thought about it, the more he felt he could change things if only he had the chance.

Could his fate - could the _lady's_ fate - be at all altered depending on his actions? If, say, he had taken the rail on the right, for instance. He knew it was an absurd thought - after all, taking the rail on the right would have held no significance to the sequence of events, save the fact it would have taken him longer to find Test Subject #2845 or even possibly led to him being killed in an explosion before even finding her in the first place. Something about that did seem a bit strange, though, now that he thought about it - for all the alarms that had been going off, declaring that reactor core meltdown was imminent, he had still had ample time to guide the lady to the portal gun and break into _Her_ chamber before a different kind of hell broke loose, one that did not involve a massive flaming end to his story.

But what was the point of pondering all of this? It didn't change anything. It had still happened. Everything had been lain out. Everyone had _seen_. Wheatley's thoughts had already been all over this and that and back again, and yet his thoughts on this were quite persistent.

He was sure a lot of things did not seem to make sense or add up, but might this be due to his own mis-wirings, his own misgivings, and his own poor decisions? Wheatley couldn't handle this being his fault - couldn't handle _anything_ ever being his fault, despite the fact that most things were always somehow his fault and everything had been a direct cause of his own choices.

His fate was too overwhelming for him to wrap his small, sad little mind around, and so he insisted on playing this frivolous little game of "what if?". And how frivolous a game it was - and dangerous. He just had to insist that he had the power to change things - to hack them, as they were, even though his single greatest use was taking commands from others - if only he had the chance.

If Wheatley had given himself more time, he probably could have gotten used to these feelings of helplessness, of boredom, and of regret. He might have even been able to resign himself to his fate, even as a part of him understood that this was the least of what he deserved. But he could not. He simply could not. The feelings of restlessness and longing never went away, never abated. They only strengthened. Became more infinite than all the stars in space and trees on Earth put together.

"I wish I could take it all back," he said solemnly, all of these thoughts tumbling uselessly through his mind, like a sock in the dryer that had lost its mate, "I honestly do. I honestly do wish I could take it all back."

Perhaps these feelings were only because he was stranded in space.

"And not just 'cause I'm stranded in space."

"We're in space!" declared his little space-obsessed space companion.

Oh, good, he's still there.

"I know you are, mate. Yup, we're both in space," said Wheatley, exasperated.

Really, there was too much space and too many mentions of space. And too much thinking. And too many "what ifs". And too much-..

"Anyway..." he went on, determined to say whatever it was he felt he needed to say, "You know, if I was ever to see her again, you what I'd say? I'd say-.."

What would he say? What could he possibly say that would change anything?

"We're in space!"

"'I'm sorry...'"

But would that really change anything? Would it really _mean_ anything? Words are cheap. What's done is done. Only through one's actions, one's continued efforts, can an abstract thing such as an apology really mean anything.

Wheatley felt a swelling of emotion inside of him as the sincerity of the idea manifested, bloomed to life and pushed its way outward, consuming his thoughts and everything else around him. Multiplying. Like trees in space and stars on Earth.

"Sincerely," Wheatley continued, but who was really listening at this point? It wasn't like there were any onlookers, an audience, aside from Spacey, who was currently demonstrating that he was the only sane one in the immediate vicinity by spinning around and grinning joyfully. "I am sorry I was bossy-... and monstrous-... and... I am genuinely sorry..."

"We're in space!"

Right, space. Well, if Wheatley was insisting, then who was anyone to argue? Perhaps things could be done all over again, just to sate everybody's curiosity. Why the hell not? May he go for that rail on the right. May he check all 10,000 Extended Relaxation pods. May he open up an endless sea of possibilities just to chase after a pointless happy ending. It should have been a good enough lesson for him to learn that there were no such things as happy endings, but it seems nobody can ever be bothered to leave well enough alone.

All right, here we go. The game is, as they say, _on_.

"The en-"

-D IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE-


	4. The Partial Replay Ending

-END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER-

Rolling out of his booth and into the corridor, the first thing Wheatley noticed, aside from the alarming tremors and tremulous alarms, was that everything was dark. And covered in strange vegetation. And that the place was deserted. And that he had a very strange, yet intense, feeling of deja vu. Unusual, he thought, but perhaps it was just a glitch in his sleep mode simulation matrix, and so he passed it off as such.

But the feeling came back almost immediately as he called out into the deserted area for his coworkers, only to find that none of them were, in fact, there. Perhaps they were all playing a very good game of hide-and-seek. Or perhaps he had simply missed a memo. Or perhaps it was even a prank.

"Okay, ha-ha... Joke is... Joke's on me, folks. You can all come out now. Didn't we do all this yesterday? Not a very good prank, if you ask me. Unoriginal," he said.

Although he did find it quite strange that his coworkers would be pulling the same prank twice in a row, especially given yesterday he was pretty sure the reactor core had been on the verge of catastrophic failure and that everyone had also been dead or otherwise missing, he would not put it past them either. They were always pulling pranks on him, such as fooling him into believing that turning on his flashlight would kill him. He was sure that was a prank as well - it had to be - because he was pretty sure that just yesterday he had turned it on and he had been fine.

For a moment, as he stared around at the uncanny desertedness of everything, he thought about testing out his flashlight, just to _see_ \- both literally and figuratively. He had to admit to himself that it was a bit absurd for him to think that anything in that regard had changed between yesterday and just now, especially since he had just been rudely awakened from several thousand years of inactivity. Better to leave it off for now, just _in case_. But then again, maybe it wouldn't kill him. Maybe he would be all right. Maybe it would help him find Test Subject #2845 easier, if he had his flashlight to help light the way.

Wait, hold on, he thought. That was weird. He knew he had to find Test Subject #2845, had to guide them to the ASHPD in order to escape, but-.. hadn't he done that all before? Yesterday? This whole day was getting weirder by the minute, and up until that moment he thought the weirdest part was that the entire facility was about to explode. Again.

Wait, no, _again_? How could it be exploding _again?_ Either it had or it had not. What was this, Schrödinger's Reactor Core?

"Okay, I have _no_ idea what is going on here," he thought aloud to himself, although that was nothing new - either the thinking aloud to himself or the having no idea what was going on, "But I'm just going to, to just, um-.. go along with things, as it were. Assuming that this whole place did not already explode and that I was not just orbiting around the moon five minutes ago."

Wheatley nodded. That sounded like a good idea. Definitely probably a good idea to assume the whole thing had just been a glitch in his sleep mode simulation matrix and move on, as he had ascertained earlier - though he would need to get that looked at later, he noted.

As Wheatley came to a set of two management rails, he took the rail on his left.

"Hold on, do I really have to take-.." he stammered, turning around and peering across at the rail on the right, which was clear and free of vines and dirt and who knew what else, "Can't I go that way instead? I mean, it all leads to the Extended Relaxation pods, doesn't it?"

And indeed both rails did lead down to the Extended Relaxation pods. However, the rail on the right would take longer, much longer. It would probably take much more time than he seemed to think he had. The rail on his left would be a much more direct route and would save him a whole lot of time. So Wheatley took the rail on his left.

And yet, he hesitated.

"I mean, what difference would it make if it took just a couple extra minutes-..."

_"PLEASE PREPARE FOR EMERGENCY EVACUATION."_

"...-AHHH! All right, we'll go left - again!"

And then he took the rail on his left.

He made his way down to the Extended Relaxation pods much in the same way he had before. In fact, _exactly_ the way he had before in his sleep mode simulation matrix. He diligently moved past all the other pods, which he somehow _knew_ were devoid of any living humans, and made his way down to Test Subject #2845's pod without any further delays. Why he handled this task just fine but seemed to struggle with whether he should go left or right at the first junction was a mystery for the ages, but here he was, ready to plug in and wake up Test Subject #2845 and get things going.

He entered the commands, the vault door slid open, and there before his very eye appeared the lady - the very same lady he had been wanting nothing more than to apologize to, even though he was just meeting her for the first time, so he should probably contain his excite-..

"It's you! You're _alive_! Oh, what a relief!" he exclaimed with an energetic flap of his handles, nodding enthusiastically, his optic strobing with such lurid intensity, it hurt both his own eye and the lady's.

She squinted and shielded her crystalline eyes with her hand, then peered around and gave him a dubious look, her dark eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

Wheatley took this as a cue that he needed to clarify, "Better than the alternative, which is, you know, _dead_. Heh heh."

Neither his odd behavior nor his nervous laughter seemed to put her at any amount of ease, for her look of confusion only deepened.

"Dead! Did I said dead? Nobody's dead!" he said as reassuringly as possible, not sure whether he felt at all reassured himself but it was all he had to work with at the moment, "All right? Everything is all right. Just stay calm-.."

_"PLEASE PREPARE FOR REACTOR CORE MELTDOWN."_

"-STAY CALM - just ignore that message! Sorry, but we don't have time to go over the whole apple and you being brain damaged thing. Already know you're a good jumper. Just stay calm, and I'll get us out of here," he ranted as moved along his rail while beaming down at the lady in both excitement and terror - creating, unbeknownst to Wheatley, a sort of manic look that he managed to pull off spectacularly considering he was a robot. It caused the lady back even further away from him. "Oh! Do make sure you hold onto something, all right? I'm going to try to get us out of here as carefully and as quickly as possible, and I'd _really_ hate to lose you at this point."

If Wheatley thought he had knocked over quite a few pods before, it did not even hold a candle to the damage he was doing now. He whizzed around with such glee, so excited was he to see his lady human friend alive and well (relatively speaking), he just about toppled the entire building - which would have taken extreme talent given that they were underground, but Wheatley was nothing if not talented. At least in his mind he was, but what did any of that matter at the moment? He was too busy being excited and crashing the lady's Extended Relaxation pod into what he thought was the docking station (despite the very obvious, literal writing on the wall that it was actually 500 feet below) to be worried about what the management upstairs might think.

There was a terrific CRUNCH and a series of deafeningly loud screeches and groans, the sounds of metal twisting and bending, tearing and shearing. It was all music to Wheatley's audio receivers, because that meant that they had made it through and would be on track again! Literally on track! Nothing was going to stop them this time! Absolutely nothing!

"All right, here we are!" he said as he opened the panel and descended back into the lady's pod, "Forget what I said earlier about the brain damage, I'm sure you are going to find the portal gun and tear this track apart and we'll be out of here in-... Er... hello? Lady? Where have you-..."

His iris constricted, dilated, constricted again, dilated again, unable to settle on one or the other as he struggled to process what he was seeing. Either his optical drive was failing, or the lady was missing... along with the entire bottom half of her Extended Relaxation pod.

"Oh my God..." he gasped, staring utterly dumbfounded at the nothing that remained.

He was completely floored - or at least he would have been were he not suspended from his rail, or if there was a floor left for him to be floored on. The lady, the bed, the lamp, that microwave thingy, the floor, the _lady!_ All missing!

"Oh my God... Oh my _God!_ Oh God, she's gone! She's, she's GONE! How can she be gone?! What in the-...! How in the-...! Oh my GOD! Oh no no no no no! Maybe she's just, she's just hiding! Yeah, hiding! Lady! Now's not a good time to be playing hide-and-seek! I take back the whole you _not_ being brain damaged thing, by the way, as it is quite evident now, since you seem to think now is a good time for playing games! Come out now! So we can get out of here before everything goes up in flames!"

He spun around wildly, optic darting here and there, searching every nook and cranny - the few that remained, anyway - but nothing of the lady turned up. Nothing at all. Not a single bit of her. Not a single-...

He raced back along his management rail, retracing his steps and searching all over the place, coming up with nothing but ruined Extended Relaxation pods and that deep, foggy abyss. Perhaps she had fallen out here and not been crushed to death from being rammed up against the side of a wall by a ton of steel. Or so Wheatley could only hope, because there was no way he was going to go back and check.

"Okay. Maybe, maybe she, she fell out here and-.. landed on her feet. Yeah! She's quick on her feet. Like a fox, clever, brain damaged but clever, and foxes always land on their feet. And she had those long-fall boots. So odds are in her favor, actually. We could still get lucky, couldn't- Lady!" he called down into the abyss, his voice completely swallowed by the gloom, "Lady, are you alive down there? Just like last time, I'll wait one hour, and then-...! And then I'll... I'll, uh..."

But of course there was no answer. Who was he even trying to kid? Even if by some miracle she had survived that long of a fall, special boots or not, how could she possibly hear him from so far down? And, _oh God_ , Wheatley thought, what if she landed in one of those random pits of acid that were spread haphazardly throughout the facility?! It was entirely possible, given how Aperture seemed to delight in putting even its employees to the test, even to the extent of making some of the employees have to race through gels and avoid mashy plates (not the spiky variety, those were _his_ invention, he was proud to say) just to make it to their offices.

At this time, Wheatley began to hyperventilate, looking around in pure panic.

"Oh my God... Oh my God! What am I going to do?! How could this happen?! What am I going to do?!"

All terrible feelings aside, he supposed he could go back and check the other 9,999 Extended Relaxation pods, but what good would that really do? The whole place was about to explode. Sure, he hadn't heard any of those dire warnings in a while, but that didn't mean that the reactor core wasn't still down there, slowly boiling away. It was only a matter of time before it went kaput and then that would be the ending to his whole story. The final chapter. The last book in the series. No more second chances. Or thirds. Or fourths. Or any _anything_. And then it wouldn't matter whether or not the lady survived. Or whether or whether not he waited around for her for an hour. Or whether or whether not he checked the other 9,999 pods.

But, oh no, he was really quite desperate, wasn't he? Knowing that the lady was really gone and not coming back, Wheatley did indeed go about checking the rest of the pods. What he found was not only a waste of his time, but also quite disappointing. Not that he was keeping track or anything, but out of the total of 10,000 pods, if he counted the lady's, only 2,845 were ones he was physically able to get into, and out of that 2,845, exactly one of them had housed any living occupants. And he had just lost her.

With that, Wheatley reached a ghastly conclusion.

"Oh, no... Was she-... She was really the last one? Really?"

He was totally, utterly, inescapably SOL and JWF.

There was no way he would ever be able to reach the surface without a human, without his special lady human friend whom he had wished so hard to make amends with, even though it had all just been a glitch in his sleep mode simulation matrix. No. Perhaps he ought to have been more careful about preserving the life of the only remaining being that could help save _his_ life. Humans were an awfully fragile species, after all.

Wheatley hung his head, allowing himself a moment of solace for the loss. He shifted on his rail as, off in the distance, he heard the alarms going off again. He barely had time to register that there was something else going on in the background, behind the alarms, something that sounded like something _alive_ , something _breathing_ , _something that sounded like a faint chuckling,_ though it could just as easily be the creaking of old pipes or the hissing of heat splitting the air as the reactor core reached critical mass.

Thoroughly creeped out, the feeling of being watched washing over him all over again, Wheatley turned to flee and-

-THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END-


	5. The Bottomless Pit Ending

-IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER-

Rolling out of his booth and into the corridor, the first thing Wheatley noticed, aside from the alarming tremors and tremulous alarms, was that everything was dark. And covered in strange vegetation. And that the place was deserted. And that he had a very strange, yet intense, feeling of déjà vu. And that the feeling of having déjà vu was giving him déjà vu. Perhaps it was all just a glitch in his sleep mode simulation matrix, and so he passed it off as such.

But the feeling came back almost immediately as he called out into the deserted area for his coworkers, only to find that none of them were, in fact, there. Perhaps they were all playing a very good game of hide-and-seek. Or perhaps he had simply missed a memo. Or perhaps it was even a prank.

"Okay, um, ha-ha- _ha_... You all got me. Really got me this time. Kind of stupid to be pulling the same prank three times in a row, but third time's the charm, right?" he said.

But even that gave him déjà vu. Déjà what the heck was going on here? Had this not just all happened yesterday? No, the day before yesterday. No, wait, yesterday and the day before yesterday. Wait, no, wasn't he floating around the moon just a couple days ago? Had his sleep mode simulation matrix just simulated him having a simulation? Was he in the middle of a simulation right now? No, he thought, that didn't make any kind of sense, rational or otherwise, despite this situation being most irrational and most certainly not otherwise. Unless he had somehow unwittingly gotten himself caught up in some kind of infinite feedback loop - unlikely, as he was much too clever to fall victim twice to something so amateur - it must be something going on with the world around him.

Yes, that was it. The world around him was off. He may have just had a simple glitch in his sleep mode simulation matrix - not something that couldn't be fixed easily enough - but something about the world around him was definitely alarming.

_"REACTOR CORE MELTDOWN IS IMMINENT. RUN, DO NOT WALK, TO THE NEAREST AVAILABLE EXIT. IF YOU ARE A LEG AMPUTEE, PARAPLEGIC, CRIPPLE, OR OTHERWISE UNABLE TO RUN, SHOULD YOU SOMEHOW MIRACULOUSLY SURVIVE THE ENSUING INFERNO, PLEASE RECONSIDER RE-APPLYING TO APERTURE SCIENCE IN THE FUTURE, AS THIS EMERGENCY SHOULD PLAINLY ILLUSTRATE TO YOU THE VITAL IMPORTANCE OF HAVING THE USE OF BOTH LEGS AT ALL TIMES."_

Ah, he thought, that would the alarms. That must be what was so alarming. He nodded to himself, reassured.

Right, now that he had that sorted out, he proceeded along his rail, knowing that he needed to find Test Subject #2845 and wake them up so they could get the heck out of there. And he knew just where he could find them. All he needed to do was follow the instructions provided to him yesterday and the day before yesterday, collect Test Subject #2845, and then row back to Spain like there was no mañana. His special lady human friend sure would be happy to see him, especially after-..

_The lady!_

"Oh my God, that's right! The lady!" he exclaimed, his panels flaring out as a feeling of dread nearly overloaded his circuits. Funny that he felt that way only now, given the fact that there were literally a hundred other reasons for him to feel dread at the moment, most notably the fact that the whole facility was about to be filled with molten radiation. But maybe not so funny because nobody was laughing.

"I have to find her! I have to find her! I _have_ to find her!" he ranted as he sped along, "And she _has_ to be in one piece and not dead! Not that I have any proof that she died, or that this isn't all some prank or simulation or glitch or- I don't know! She just has to be alive!"

But who did he think was listening to him? Everyone was gone. And more importantly, why should the lady not be alive? He already knew he had to find her, and in which Extended Relaxation pod to find her, which meant that he-...

As Wheatley came to a set of two management rails, he took-...

As he picked his way around the ravaged rails-..

Wheatley was in such a hurry, he raced right over the narration like it wasn't important in the slightest. It was _only_ the sole cohesive thing about the situation, words and ideas woven together, responsible for carrying him along through all the decisions that needed to be made and for conveying all the thoughts, situations, and surroundings in between. What good was it anyway, thinking it was _so_ important to the story. It was only the _story itself_.

But perhaps all could be forgiven, because miraculously, he had taken the rail on his left without any further prompting. That indeed was at least an improvement.

He took his rail down four levels, took-an-immediate-right, tookrowthirteenandstraightdown-..

And there he went again, outrunning the narration. Rather rude, but he did at last arrive at Test Subject #2845's pod. He hurriedly entered-in-the-commands, wokeherupand-..

"What? What's all this?" Wheatley said, disconcerted when an internal dialog box popped up in response, " _'Program not responding'?_ What in the bloody hell does _that_ mean?! Wake up the lady already!"

He again abused the cryosleep program interface, plugging in the commands again like he could rush things along at his own leisure.

" _'Program still not responding'?!_ I'll show _you_ 'still not responding'!"

And again with the button-mashing. Really, that kind of anxiety wasn't healthy, even for a robotic being such as Wheatley, so he relaxed for a few moments-...

"Oh, come _on_ , don't make me ask for the manager! Look, I don't know who this Karen is you're referring to, but- Hold on, I _am_ the manager, now wake up the lady!"

..-with some calming new age music.

The moment the music came on, Wheatley sighed and felt himself gently swaying along, "Oh... Oh, that's rather nice. Not sure where it's coming from, though. And odd for them to be playing elevator music when I'm kind of in a hurry here, but that is nice."

Feeling soothed, Wheatley calmly moved forward on his rail and again tried the commands, this time at a more controlled pace and therefore allowing time for the narration to keep up. The cryosleep program let out a polite chime in response, as if to thank him for his patience. He considered thanking it in return, which would have been the polite thing to do, but then Wheatley was about as rude as they came, because the moment the vault door slid open and the lady appeared before him, he was right back torushingthingsalongandburstingstraightintothepodwithoutanyfurtherado.

"It's _you!_ Oh, man alive, am I glad to see you! Alive! And in one piece! I thought for sure you were a goner! I thought I'd killed you! I thought I was never going to live that down, but here you are! And did I meantion, you're _alive_! I can't believe it's really you! Again! Ha ha ha ha! Yes! Finally, everything will be all-.. Ow! Ow, hey! What is-.. What are you doing?!"

Wheatley flinched and drew back upon simultaneously seeing the scowl on the Test Subject #2845's face and receiving a smart smack upon his chassis followed immediately by pain.

He shook his entire hull, blinked rapidly a few times, and readjusted his iris, assessing the situation. The lady was wielding what appeared to be one of the lamps that came installed next to the cheap hotel bed. Apparently she had ripped it out of its place on the wall and had just hit him with it. That much he had figured out. But what he failed to understand was _why_. Perhaps he should keep rambling instead of sitting there and staring - it was what he did best, after all.

She came after him again, striking him again, again and again and again.

"What are you-..Why are you hitting me? Oww! Oh my God, Lady, are you mad?! Stop hitting me! Ow, that hurts! _Really_ hurts, would just like to point that out! I'm trying to save your life here, show a little gratit-.."

Here he was struck not only again by the lamp, but also by a thought.

"Wait, are you doing this because you remember too? Everything, from before? Oh, blimey, what a relief! I thought I was the only one! Ha ha haaa! I can't believe you remember too! This is, this is great! Tremendous! Wait, wait a minute, you remember- Look - all that stuff I did before, I- it wasn't on purpose, okay?"

The lady narrowed her silvery gaze at him and brandished the lamp at him again - and, again, Wheatley reacted by wincing and shifting backwards along his rail.

"Yeah, I mean, the first time I went a bit off the rails, no pun intended, but I didn't mean any of that," he went on, panic racing through his circuits, and by now he had backed all the way up to the doorway. "-and, and, and, and I certainly didn't mean to make you test and try to kill you and all that. And you actually look _great_ in that jumpsuit, by the way! Honest!"

The lady's eyes narrowed further, her entire face scrunched in on itself, creating a sinister sort of black hole where that composed, albeit a bit creepy, expression of hers would usually be. It made her look utterly terrifying, and Wheatley could feel his servos working overtime in response to it. Even worse, it reminded Wheatley of the look she had given him back in the testing chambers, the look she had given him every time right before she smashed one of his monitors.

"And the second time, that was a total accident! I was just trying to get us out of here in a hurry! I really did look for you! Honestly! Okay, I glanced around a bit, couldn't really see that far down, but, please- don't look at me like that, I'm trying to say I'm s-AAARRRGH!" he yelled, his shriek splitting the air, and had there been any other living test subjects left, it surely would have awakened all of them, "Oh my God, you broke something! I felt something break! What did you break?! What did you- GAHHHH! You broke my optic! Where'd you go?! Why did you- STOP HITTING ME! YOU'RE INSANE! STOP-..!"

He blinked at her, his eyeplates scraping indelicately over his cracked iris, and the action sent fresh, searing pain coursing through his entire core body. She lunged at him again, he screamed and pulled back, and somehow within those two very quick, precise movements, the lamp got caught up on his lower handle right as Wheatley was pulling sharply away, back out of the pod and onto the catwalk. There was an ear-splitting screech of metal, the lady's eyes popped open almost comically, he gasped, and then-...

...And then, for a second, Wheatley had the very curious sensation of free-falling. He, having been attached to his management rail his entire life, had never experienced such a sensation before. It was almost like being out in space, except he was not out in space. It was almost pleasant, like being free.

But then that second stretched out into another second, and another, and all at once Wheatley came to a heart-stopping conclusion - _he was actually free-falling_. Quicker than he could process, his rail disappeared above him and suddenly he was left surrounded by nothing but air.

Never before had he been more less curious about what was at the bottom of that pit, unless it was covered in Repulsion Gel. That stuff was leaking all over the facility, wasn't it? Not that he knew that for sure, but he could get lucky, couldn't he? If not, then the next best thing he could hope for was that the pit was actually bottomless, which would give him ample time to devise an escape plan.

He spun around in his own casing, uselessly searching for something that could possibly save his life or at least slow his descent so as to prolong his life. But there was nothing. Nothing but dark shapes whizzing by him at an alarmingly rapid speed. And a few other shapes that were falling with him - it was difficult to see, what with his optic being damaged, but he could make out bits of the ruined catwalk, a lamp, the lady, and-..

Oh! The lady! She had fallen with him! And she had those long-fall boots. Perhaps he could convince her to grab him and then, if the pit had a bottom, they'd both be safe.

"Lady!" he called to her over the wind as it rushed by, "I don't know whether you've noticed, but both of us seem to be plummeting quite rapidly, alarmingly, to our deaths. Now would be a GREAT time for putting old grudges behind us and working together on this. That is, if you could just grab me and land on your feet, I think we'll both be okay!"

The lady gave him a dubious look and went back to looking around for a way out of the situation, as if he had said nothing at all.

"Hey, did you hear me? I know you're brain damaged and can't speak, but I'm under the impression that you can hear just fine! Hello?"

Still no response, and with that Wheatley came to another heart-stopping conclusion - she was going to let him die. She was looking for a way out, and she was going to just leave him there, behind, to die. Just like before. Just like when he had detached himself from his rail and she hadn't caught him. And again, when he was being pulled through the portal on the moon and she hadn't grabbed him and pulled him back in. It was all playing over and over again in his mind. Was this his purgatory? Was he going to fall, in one way or another, on repeat, every day for the rest of his life? Was his fate as bottomless as this pit? And, for that matter, was the lady's fate the same? Was there anything he could do to change things for good?

He wondered what in all of Aperture he had done to deserve such a fate. Sure, he had betrayed his only friend and tried to kill her, had begged for an opportunity to make things right again, but _this_ was not what he wanted. For her to kill him. For him to watch her die. _If_ they were going to die, that is. He was certain at least one of them was going to, and why shouldn't it be him? He was the useless one, the one who was never good at anything, whose sole achievement in life had been pushing buttons and keeping the human test subjects alive. And he hadn't even been able to succeed at that. Everybody was gone. Let go. Lives gone in a different direction. Their bodies a part of a permanent outplacement. Dead. And it was all entirely his fault.

No. No, that couldn't be. This wasn't his fault. This-.. This was all just a glitch in his sleep mode simulation matrix. At least he hoped that's all this was, at this point, and if he could just wake up from it, he swore he would get himself straight to the Robot Rehabilitation and Wellness Center  and get himself looked at, first thing. He had been putting it off for a while, convinced that everything inside of him was all right and that it was everything else around him that was wrong, but here, now, he knew something more was going on. He didn't know what, just that it was _more_. More than he could handle.

Well, it seemed at that point Wheatley was going to think himself to death, and as much as everyone delighted in his misery, it was time to say-

\- THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER-


	6. The Therapy Ending

\- THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER-

Rolling out of his booth and into the corridor, the first thing Wheatley noticed, aside from the alarming tremors and tremulous alarms, was that everything was dark. And covered in strange vegetation. And that the place was deserted. And that he had a very strange, yet intense, feeling of déjà vu. And that the feeling of having déjà vu was giving him déjà vu. And that the fact that he was having déjà vu over having déjà vu was also giving him déjà vu. And-

"Right, that's enough of this, on to the Wellness Center," Wheatley spoke suddenly, and in such a dull tone that one might have thought that he was bored.

But how could he be bored? Bored was the very last possible thing he could be, under the circumstances. There were alarms and tremors going off all over the place, there were vines hanging about where (for all he knew) there had not been earlier that same day when he clocked in for his shift-

"Meh, I've seen that all before. Not very impressive," he said in such a dismissive, casual manner, it would have flabbergasted anyone witnessing the whole ordeal - not that there was anyone there to witness such a thing, but all the same it was a puzzling attitude for him to have.

As Wheatley came to a set of two management rails, he took the rail on his left.

"Uh, no, not in the mood to murder or be murdered by the lady today," Wheatley grumbled as he swung his chassis onto the rail on his (r)l(i)e(g)f(h)t.

Lefright.

Ahem.

The rail on his _llllll-_

-rrrrright.

Wheatley took the rail on his right (?!).

This was not the correct way to the Extended Relaxation pods and Wheatley knew it perfectly well. Perhaps he wanted to stop by the reactor core, just to admire it - or, perhaps as a reminder to himself that the whole place really was about to explode. Whichever, this was not the correct way to the Extended Relaxation Pods. For whatever reason, Wheatley seemed keen on wasting everybody's time - namely his own, seeing as he was rapidly running _out_ of time before-

"Nothing is about to explode, mate, it's all in my processor," he said.

Now who did this rotten little core think he was speaking to? He was all alone. The entire building was utterly, totally, indisputably deserted, and the only other significant being left alive other than himself was Test Subject #2845 - who, he had apparently forgotten, lay helplessly in cryosleep, awaiting his arrival to wake them up so as to continue on with the story.

But Wheatley didn't have a care in the world. He didn't care about anything (much less _every_ thing) going on around him, much less following the story. He only cared about himself and this pointless little side quest of his. It was rather odd for him to be thinking that anything at all could be wrong with his processor, especially given the facts that 1.) he had a lot of wrong things built into his processor, on purpose, as part of his design, hence why he was called the Intelligence Dampening Sphere, and 2.) he had been sitting alone in a booth for centuries, completely stationary - nothing could have possibly knocked him around hard enough to cause the sort of damage he was implying he had.

"Pfft," Wheatley scoffed to no one in particular, rolling his eye in a sardonic fashion, "Like I haven't heard _that_ before - the old, _Oh, Wheatley's too stupid to tell when something is_ really _wrong_ joke. And I mean it's _really_ old. About as old as-.. well, that joke. Not like I can't tell when the reactor core is about to explode or whatever."

Right...

Well, nevertheless, Wheatley chose to ignore the facts and insisted that something had to be _really_ wrong this time and that he had to visit the Robot Rehabilitation and Wellness Center to figure out what it was. Again, nothing was, in fact, wrong, except for the fact that he was not going the way he was supposed to be going. But oh well, why not let him get on with this lunacy, let him get it out of the way so we can get on with the _real_ story.

Upon arriving at the Wellness Center, Wheatley noticed right away that the door was literally hanging off its hinges, like so many other doors around the place as of late. No, there was nothing at all wrong with that, not at all abnormal for Aperture Science, where everything was usually so pristine and orderly. Oh that's right, Wheatley paid no mind to it because he was convinced this was all a dream - a sleep mode simulation matrix from which he would either awaken again, or which would very soon be proven an incorrect theory.

Slipping around the askew door, Wheatley noticed that, once again, the place was completely deserted. All of everyone was gone. Big surprise at this point, and not surprisingly, he was not surprised either.

He glanced about the room until he saw a kiosk which read, PLEASE PLUG INTO THE DIAGNOSTIC QUESTIONNAIRE INTERFACE AND ANSWER HONESTLY. ANY DISHONEST ANSWERS WILL NOT ONLY LEAD TO OUR INABILITY TO CORRECTLY DIAGNOSE YOUR MALFUNCTION, BUT WILL RESULT IN A MILD ELECTRIC SHOCK.

"Right," said Wheatley, approaching the kiosk and immediately accepting the cable which offered itself to him. "First question - _Have you tried turning it off and on again?_ Gah, really? Why is that always the first question? Um, no, actually, I haven't tried - not voluntarily, anyway."

A pause.

"You want me to try that right now? Well, all right, I'll go ahead and prove to you right now that it won't help a single bloody-.."

\- THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE -

Rolling out of his booth and into the corridor, the first thing Wheatley-..

..-did was blink awake, shaking himself as he lifted himself up on his rail. He stared around his booth in confusion, having not yet rolled out of said booth yet after all. How on Earth-

"-did I end up back here?" he wondered aloud, casting increasingly bewildered glances around the small room, as if he could find any answers there. "Must have fallen back asleep, again? Or, no, I could have swore I was just at the Wellness Center, getting this-.. this _thing_ , whatever it is that's wrong, looked at."

Oh dear, he thought, something must be _really_ wrong. Because he knew he had a story to being getting on with, things to be done, friends to betray, but-..

"No. No no no no no. I have to get back to the Wellness Center. I must have a virus."

A virus? First it was a glitch in his sleep mode simulation matrix, then it was blunt force trauma, and now it's a virus. Which _was_ it? The answer was nothing. Nothing was wrong. It was time to get on with the story. Now-

Rolling out of his booth and into the corridor, the first thing Wheatley noticed, aside from-..

"Now I _know_ I've been through all this before - multiple times, in fact. And I just went through here not five minutes ago and visited the Wellness Center, where they told me to-... Oh. Ohhh. That explains that," he said, iris dilating as a realization hit him. "They must have thought that rebooting fixed the issue, so they brought me back here, though I guess they couldn't be bothered to wait for me to wake back up to check first. Rude. But okay, I guess I'll just have to go back."

But no, Wheatley knew that he could put this all behind him, if only he got down to Extended Relaxation and found Test Subject #2845. If only he could manage that, he could finally move past all this.

As Wheatley came to a set of two management rails, he took the rail on his l-

-right.

Oh, for crying out loud, not _this_ again. This was _not_ the correct way to the Extended Relaxation pods and Wheatley knew it perfectly well. Perhaps he wanted to stop by the reactor core, just to admire it - or, perhaps as a reminder to himself that the whole place really was about to explode.

But, again, no, Wheatley was rather insistent that he make a follow-up visit with the Wellness Center, just to be sure that everything was right as rain. He marched right into the room, plugged himself into the kiosk, and immediately got to work answering the questionnaire.

"Yes, I tried turning it off and on again. Didn't work, mate, obviously, that's why I came back," he said imperiously, shaking his head at the stupid machine.

" _Have you tried a force restart?_ ...Is that any different than turning it off and on again? Okay, look, let's just assume that I _have_ tried that - because, let's face it, I _have_.. just not voluntarily."

The kiosk seemed to accept this answer and moved on to the next question.

" _Are you missing any important components, either internal or external?_ " At this, Wheatley flapped each of his handles in turn, glancing at them as he did so, before returning his attention to the kiosk, "External seems to be there and in working order. Internal - I'm _pretty_ sure it's all there, but- Like I said, that's kind of why I'm here. I've been having these strange dreams - more like nightmares, really - about exploding reactor cores and dead test subjects and really nasty, rusty old rails that look like they've been that way for a really long time. In fact, I saw some just on the way over here - both times. But that's impossible, isn't it? I mean, it's not like a murderous alien race took over the whole planet and killed all the humans and this all happened to coincide with the murder of all the scientists by way of neurotoxin so now the whole facility has been abandoned and all the test subjects are dead and everything has become steadily more and more dilapidated over the course of several millennia until the reactor core started melting down, right? Because that would be a pretty absurd turn of events."

Wheatley scoffed in response to the kiosk's follow-up question, " _Are you running at a slower speed than normal?_ Well of _course_ not, I have one of the best processors around. Just ask the scientists - uh, if you can find any of them alive, anyway. And if you _do_ find any of them alive, please send them my way, because I have a complaint or two to make about the state of the management rails - 1 out of 10 for safety, that's for sure. Maybe 0 out of 10, accounting for all the alarms and tremors going on. Anyway, they spent months designing me, no doubt. I'm a technological feat like nothing that has ever been seen before. I could run this whole facility better than the boss lady upstairs, if I had the chance. I mean, I am in line for a promotion... But, okay, to answer your question in simpler terms, I can assure you I am running on all 1.1 volts like normal. Full capacity for me, gotta be running at full capacity at all times to do the job I do. Very important work. Very complicated."

" _Have you recently engaged in any unprotected recreational data transfers with another device?_ Uhhh... Well, _yeah_ , 'course I have. I am _quite_ popular with the ladies, if you know what I mean," he said, voice full of swagger as he puffed himself out, and truly believing it himself in the moment, the degenerate, "Well, not _the_ lady, but- ladies in general. You know. Robots, of the female persuasion. Or of any persuasion, really. I'm not picky, not picky at all, I mean a port's a port, am I right? Ha-ha-ha. Robots, other cores, been known to even hook up with a door or two. Does it matter? Point is, I am _quite_ the stud and I do engage in it on the regular, gratuitous amounts of file sharing - unprotected, of course, feels much better that way. I mean, I-... AAARRRRGGHHH!"

Wheatley's gratuitous _lies_ broke off into a sudden blood-curdling shriek as many volts of electricity flooded through his entire body, setting every circuit alight with stabbing, jolting pain. For Wheatley, this was not at all an amusing situation to be in, however amusing it may or may not have been to other folks. Some may have even said he was getting his just desserts. In all seriousness, the only thing more amusing than that was the fact that the kiosk had allowed him to continue on as long as he had before calling him out on his BS.

"What- What was that for, I'm not ly- AAAARRRGGHHH! Okay, okay! Owww! Stop! _Stop!_ I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Sorry for exagg-... AHHHH! Okay, I get it! You caught me! It was an outright fabrication - the whole thing! It's been a long t-GAHHH! All right, I've _never_ shared any data recreationally! With anyone, robot or otherwise! It's all been for business! All business, I swear! There! Just stop murdering me! Murder is bad, didn't they teach you that?! Good _God_...!" he panted as the pins and needles slowly lifted away, leaving behind little tingly trails of electric fire in their wake, "That _really hurt!_ You're supposed to be _fixing_ me, not _making it worse_! Who put you in charge here anyway?! Maybe I ought to ask for your manager! And what's with everyone thinking my name is Karen all of a sudden?! Bloody..."

Wheatley trailed off and took a moment to put himself back in order - or as much in order as he was able, all things considered.

"So-.. what was that question for anyway? I mean, I _do_ think I have a virus of some k-.. Oh God, it _is_ a virus, isn't it? Oh God, oh no, oh nonononono. How bad is it? Can you get rid it? Will there be anything left of me after you're done? Oh God, please tell me you're not going to reformat me. Please, not that! I finally had everything the way I liked it - perfect, really - and now you're telling me you're going to have to- Oh God, I don't want to die! I'm too young to die! I'm not ready for this! I don't think I'll have ever been ready, but I'm especially not ready _now_! I-.. uh? What's that? You don't think it's a virus? Oh, phew, blimey, that's a relief! Next time don't be so _vague_! It isn't nice. You really had me worried there for a second! Ha-ha, when I say that- when I say _worried_ , I mean on-only _one_ second, though, because I knew it couldn't be a virus. Couldn't be. I mean, we already ascertained that I hadn't engaged in any unprotected data transfers, so a virus would be pretty much impossible, yeah? Yeah." Wheatley closed his optic and nodded in agreement with himself.

And then he re-opened his optic when the machine prompted him again, "Oh, you have another question for me? What's th-"

..-Of course it did. Why in the hell else did he think he was there? He was the one who had insisted on being there in the first place, the daft little tw-

"-at? _Have you ever taken over the facility and tried to murder test subjects in a fit of narcissistic rage?_ Wh-uh, excuse me, _what_?" Wheatley spluttered, his bright blue optic flicking back and forth in a manner that was undoubtedly guilty, "What-.. ummm, nooooo... That's- That's oddly specific, and uh... no. No. The answer is definitely - definitely _no_. 100% no on that one."

The kiosk remained silent for a moment as it considered his answer. Oh now this might be interesting. Considering the fact that this had not actually happened yet, and yet Wheatley had miraculously retained his memory of it, would the kiosk realize he was lying or not? It certainly seemed to be thinking over his response, in either case. Perhaps further explanation was required.

The silence from the kiosk prompted further rambling from the depraved little core, "And if, say, that had ever happened - which, again, it definitely did not, in no way, shape, or form - that- that was totally some other guy. We happen to look a little bit alike, unfortunate really, and believe me that other guy got what was coming to him. Got shot out onto the moon and all - saw it all happen, tragic, I was there and all. Ah, when I say I was there, I mean I was kind of like an impartial observer, not actually there, you know, like, in another room watching it all happen on the telly. Couldn't have intervened even if I had wanted - which I didn't, because, you know, there was a bunch of fire and bombs and falling ceiling tiles, it would have been too dangerous for a tiny little core such as myself. And you know, narcissistic is a bit of a strong word, isn't it? Misleading. I mean, some might have called it justified rage. Justified, definitely, in-.. some aspects. But um.. either way, take my word for it, the answer is-.. is no. Heh."

Wheatley lifted his bottom eye plate up in a sort of grin, hoping that his load of horse $#!+ had been enough to convince the kiosk that he was not lying. The kiosk remained worryingly silent for a few moments, during which Wheatley shifted in nervous discomfort on his rail. For once he was afraid of saying something, perhaps afraid that if he said anything more, he would give himself away.

At last, the kiosk gave a bright and cheery chime, causing Wheatley to perk up and lean forward in anticipation.

"So what is it, doc? Just give it to me straight - I can take it. Whatever it is, I, I can take it."

"Diagnosis," said the kiosk in flat but confident tone, "Personality Construct #427, Intelligence Dampening Sphere-"

"..-Hey! Don't call-"

"-is healthy."

"..-me tha-oh. Oh! I'm healthy? Really? So everything is okay? But that doesn't explain-"

"Conclusion: Intelligence Dampening Sphere is lying to get out of work."

"..What! You have _got_ to be _kidding me_!"

"Suggested treatment: Electroshock therapy to correct deviant behavior."

"Oh no, that's quite all right! I appreciate the suggestion, but I really don't think that is necessary. You already- Hey! No! Gah! Nonononononono!"

Wheatley cried out and struggled as a panel on the kiosk opened and a pair of strong robotic hands reached out, grasped him by the handles, and heaved him forward, popping him off his management rail and forcibly docking him onto a plug that held him firmly in place. At the same time, the cable he had first plugged into in order to answer the kiosk's questions disconnected itself and snaked back inside the machine, safely tucked away.

He could hear the whirring of powerful mechanisms working together, humming and buzzing, generating an electric charge that he could feel in little static pricks both within him and without. The very air around him became charged with this static and he trembled terribly, his servos working and straining like they never had before. Finally, yes, something that might set those 1.1 volts of his back on track.

He continued to struggle and blubber and plead and panic as the kiosk declared that it was, "Administering treatment..."

"No! Nononono! Please don't do this! I-it isn't what you think! Honest, I swear!"

"...in 3..."

"Okay, you know what, I _was_ trying to skip out on work a little, only a little-"

"2..."

"I just needed a break, I've had a really, _really_ bad week!"

"1..."

"Please-..! No, please, d-"

\- END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS -


	7. The Achievement Ending

\- NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER -

Rolling out of his-..

"GAAAAHHHHHH! AHHHHH! AHHHHhhuuuhhh...?"

...-Wheatley blinked his optic open, gazed around for a moment, once again confused to find himself back in his booth...

...and then erupted, quite suddenly, in a furious scream, "RRRRRGGGHH! Deviant behavior?! _Deviant behavior?!_ I'll show _them_ DEVIANT BEHAVIOR!"

Circuits burning with rage, he ran straight past the opening narration -

(a~n~d~i~n~t~o~t~h~e~c~o~r~r~i~d~o~r)

_"Calling me a LIAR!"_

\- right-over-all-the-vinesandtherustcoveredrails -

(and, good heavens, the narration!)

_"Electrocuting me to DEATH!"_

\- ignoredtherailontheleft -

(<=== THIS WAY PLEASE)

_"No thank you!"_

(OR NOT ===>)

\- andburstunceremoniouslyintotheWellnessCenter, yelling,

"Hello! Hello?! I need to speak- Oh, _hell_ , no! I'm not dealing with _you_ again!" Wheatley spat, swatting away the cable the kiosk offered to him the moment he came within range. He then turned his attention to the empty receptionist desk, shouting while repeatedly mashing the service bell on the counter with one of his handles-...

"Hello?! Is anybody in that booth back there?!"

(Though clearly there was not)

\- really going at it, as if he was set out to gain some sort of Achievement -

"Hel- _looooo_? Answer me! I'd like to speak to the manager 'round here!"

\- at least until the decrepit old thing fell apart -

"Hell- oh, that's just great."

\- at which point he began knocking rather forcefully on the smudged, moss-covered glass partition.

"Look, I know someone's back there!"

But why would he possibly think that?

"I can- I can _feel_ someone back there!"

Well, that didn't sound the least bit perverted. If there _was_ someone back there, they definitely could not be blamed for not wanting to come forward now. But really, there was no one there. Everything was perfectly deserted. It was as if Wheatley needed everything spelled out for him. As if he was incapable of extrapolating anything from any amount of data. As if he needed all the gaps to be filled in and apparently there were many.

"Helloooooo!"

Fine. Let's just get this over with.

The walls on the other side of the glass partition were lined with empty desks, empty chairs, and empty staplers (the department had faced some rather tough budget cuts there towards the end, and sad to say that staples had been one of the first things to go). There were even some empty coffee mugs, as the contents within them had long ago evaporated, leaving behind only a few of those ground bits at the bottom. A few pictures hung on the walls - nice, tranquil images of trees and lakes and such - things that, in general, held no meaning whatsoever to the robotic patients who, once upon a time, frequented the Wellness Center. The carpet was the precise color of puke orange and only served to further highlight the absolute lack of anyone. And then there was the centerpiece to the whole ensemble - a great big copier, right there in the middle of the room. A fine old thing, completely dedicated to its job of making photocopies of things. No doubt it had served its human counterparts well in the past, putting out copy after copy after copy of brochures and important documents, working in tandem with the staples, at least until they had been done away with. Why, it was even possible that it was this copier that had single-handedly printed out all the posters that were hung up all over the facility. Ah, weren't those just the good old days? It was all so very quaint, but almost certainly irrelevant.

It was possible to go on about the absence of anything useful here, but it would be a whole lot easier to just say that there was nothing. In other words, not a single indication of any kind of life that would be useful to Wheatley, seeing as it wasn't exactly as if the vegetative growths had any form of cognition, not enough to be able to assist him in a meaningful way. The sooner Wheatley realized the futility of all of this, the sooner he (and everyone else) could get on with things.

"I don't care if they're dead!"

..-But even all of _that_ , it seemed, was not enough to have Wheatley brought around.

"Just wheel them on out here!" Wheatley demanded, "There's something _seriously_ wrong with me and this stupid arsehole kiosk out here seems solely intent on electrocuting people to death! Calling me a liar and accusing me of lying to get out of work - HA HA BLOODY _HA_! Hypocrite can't even be bothered to properly _fix me_ before tossing me back into my cubicle and patting himself on the back like he's done a job well done! And he _literally_ has the hands to do it - grabbed me with them and all, talk about rude. And what does _he_ know about a hard day's work? He just sits in here all day, nice and cozy, warming up his electrodes or whatever!"

Behind him, said kiosk made a small noise of both confusion and indignation, which went entirely ignored by Wheatley. Well, at least _someone_ there understood...

"I realize that it does appear that I am still alive," he went on, "but I can assure you that maybe about ten, fifteen minutes ago, I was electrocuted to death. And then I was taken back to my booth and revived." Here he paused, huffing for a moment, before he seemed to consider something, "...I also realize that none of what I just said makes any sense, but trust me, that is what happened, all of it, exactly as I said it." Another brief pause. "Are you listening to me back there? I _will_ perform a manual override on this glass, if I have to!"

Oh no, not that. _Anything_ but that. _Please_ don't shred yourself to ribbons on broken glass just for the sake of no one being there.

"On second thought-.."

Although, in all honesty, that might be fun to see, just what was he was thinking he could accomplish? It wasn't like his management rail went _through_ the glass. It stopped maybe a foot or so _away_ from the glass. At most, he could maybe damage the glass in some way, perhaps even break it entirely, but even then, there would be no way for him to just waltz on through to the other side.

He sighed, backing off momentarily, "Okay look-... Maybe-... Maybe we just got off on the wrong foot here."

..Try the wrong _rail_. And just where was he going with this?

"I would rather not have to smash down your glass wall, mostly because I don't fancy being cut to ribbons, so maybe we could call a truce, somehow? Like if you could just, you know, come on out? Please? No?... Okay, ummmm-.. Oh!" Wheatley blurted, sounding suddenly cheery, which never bode well for anyone, "You know what I just remembered? Cake! There's- I have cake out here, loads of it! That's what you humans love, isn't it?"

 _Humans_? Oh me oh my, Wheatley _must_ be terribly confused, because not only had it been made abundantly clear that there was _no one back there at all_ , but all the humans in the facility were dead - all, save for Test Subject #2845. And he would damn well know this by now if he would just accept the facts, stop obsessing over finding someone to fix a problem that did not exist, and get on with the story!

"I promise you, if you come out right now and have a look at me, this cake right here is all yours. All of it. The whole thing."

But the cake was a lie - everybody knew that.

"And we're not talking just a little ol' slice - no, we're talking about a _whole cake_! Icing and all! Or is it frosting? You know what, why not both? Why shouldn't it have both on it, yeah? Whichever, take my word for it, it has a lot of that on it. And lots of- lots of _fruit_ , and, um... cherries. Yeah, a cherry for every slice. However many slices you make out of the cake, that's how many cherries there are. And nuts, gotta have those." Wheatley paused and muttered to himself - "What else goes on cakes?" - before raising his voice again, "Oh, and-... and... candles! You know why? Because I also just remembered that it's your birthday! Yes! Your _birthday_! Surprise! I bet you weren't expecting anybody to remember, but good ol' Wheatley did! Good ol' Wheatley remembers, because good ol' Wheatley remembers everything. No really, it doesn't seem like I have much choice in the matter. But you know what- Listen, I'll even sing a little song for you."

..He'd _what_.

"A song. That I wrote. Just now, just for you. Really, it's brilliant, you're gonna love it. And then you'll definitely be wanting to come out after you hear it, and help me. Anyway, here goes. Ahem," Wheatley simulated clearing his throat before he-..

No, NO, that's quite enough. Sorry, but no. This cannot be allowed to continue. Let's try this again.

\- THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER -

Is there any point in the opening narration at this point? Let's just cut to the chase, shall we?

Wheatley burst unceremoniously into the Wellness Center, yelling,

"All right! I have given you _enough_ chances! Too many chances, in fact! I even offered you CAKE and you just decide to put me back into my booth! AGAIN! So no more nice Wheatley!"

With that, Wheatley went on shouting and rocking himself back and forth on his rail with supreme indignation, until, at last, he had had enough -

"You best put on your seatbelts, because the Wheatley Express is COMIN' THROUGH!"

\- and hurled himself headlong into the glass partition -

"HHRRRRAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

\- upon the impact of which he bounced cleanly off -

"OOOOOFFF!"

Truly remarkable how Wheatley found himself unable to damage the glass in any way, just as predicted. It wasn't like it was made of anything special - just simple glass. Anybody could have broken it - even a baby - but strangely enough, Wheatley was unable to.

And yet, Wheatley again hurled himself into it -

"HHHYYYYAAHHHH!"

\- and again was completely rebuffed.

"WWWOOOFF!"

Wheatley huffed and puffed, but he could not blow this house down.

"What in the- What kind of glass is this?!" he wheezed, bouncing himself off for a third time, and then a fourth. "Bloody-.. I mean, I wish I had known about this stuff back in the testing chambers. Would have been great.. for protecting my monitors from Little Miss Psycho Pants. I mean, I do regret all that and all, but the sentiment still stands, I think."

Little did he know that this was, in fact, the very same glass used in the construction of those monitors - it was a simple matter of the test subject in question being a whole lot stronger, and a whole lot smarter, than Wheatley himself was. Perhaps this was something that could even be revealed to him in time.

But of course, he insisted on repeatedly bashing his own head against this plate of glass, as if it would yield different results. And wasn't that just the perfect illustration of how we are all feeling right now? Bashing our heads against an unyielding surface, hoping for different results? This little core seemed determined to drag everybody down with him. _Now_ who was the one with the psychotic pants? And on that note, it's worth mentioning that for all their differences, the one thing Wheatley and Test Subject #2845 had in common was their tenacity. Neither of them knew when to quit - only for Wheatley, this most often resulted in his own failure, whereas for Test Subject #2845, this resulted in success. Might intelligence and knowing how to choose one's battles in the first place have anything to do with this clear difference?

Clearly. Because despite all the evidence to the contrary, Wheatley just _knew_ that this time he would break through - he just had to put his heart into it.

"AAAAAAHHHHH - UGHHH!"

Perhaps if he tried putting his back into it instead.

"Okay, stand back, this one's going to be _very_ technical- RRRRAAAAAAAHHHHRRGGGH- OW! T-.. Uhhh... Technical... like I said..."

Or his guts.

"Okay, I'm gonna get it this time! This is the time, I can feel it!" he declared, shaking himself out of his disoriented state. He then shuffled back along his rail, ready to go at it full speed this time. "RRAAAHHH - UGH!"

This was becoming rather painful to watch, but it seemed Wheatley _needed_ to ram himself against this glass so that he could move on. In fact, on second thought, perhaps a whole new perspective on things could be gained through all of this. Perhaps this whole situation could be looked at from a different angle. Perhaps what Wheatley _really_ needed was some encouragement. A self-esteem boost. Positive reinforcement. The feeling that all his hard work was indeed appreciated and therefore _he_ was appreciated. This sort of thing worked for motivating dogs, children, and expendable employees, and seeing as Wheatley could easily fit into every single one of those categories, it was well worth the try.

Yes, this had to be done - for Wheatley's sake, as much as for the sake of the overall story. So Wheatley was given the green light to go ahead and smash everything to his heart's content. Make this whole experience really _mean_ something. Give this whole wasted chapter some sort of catharsis. Perhaps he ought to do it, oh.. maybe sixteen more times.

"Actually, let's just round that up to twenty," said Wheatley, seeming to take the encouragement in stride, nodding, "Twenty more times, nice round number, sounds good."

Oh, Wheatley realized, if he did it twenty more times, then that would be a total of twenty-seven - not a nice, round number as he was suggesting. It would much make more sense for him to do it twenty- _three_ more times, to give him a nice, round, even number of thirty.

"Hmm... That does make better sense. Right, twenty-three it is," Wheatley agreed with a crisp nod, and went on as directed.

Wheatley's efforts really seemed to be beginning to work here! A small, microscopic crack may have been formed in the glass - not enough for Wheatley to see, but it was, indeed, there.

"Oh, brilliant! We're making some headway!"

Wheatley felt a sense of pride at his accomplishment. It swelled through his circuits and left him feeling strangely excited. This was good, because next he needed to-..

"Right! Here I come again!"

..-go back to smashing the service bell on the counter.

Wheatley came to a halt, his gears screeching on the rail.

"The bell? But it's-.."

..-True, it had fallen apart, but smashing it a few more times might get him somewhere. It was worth a shot at this point, wasn't it? So Wheatley went ahead and rang the sad remains of the bell, say, 20 times.

"Right!" beamed Wheatley as he joyfully slammed one of his handles down on the bell again.

Good! Now he needed to hurry over to the telephone that was mounted on the wall and press a bunch of random numbers. Wheatley flipped the telephone off its rocker and began mashing the keypad.

"0118 999 881 999 119 725, annnnnd 3!"

_"Hello, you have reached the emergency services. Please state-..."_

But, eager to get back to business, Wheatley turned away, leaving the phone dangling there by its cord while the voice on the other end continued speaking in the background, and next ran over to the, hmmm, the kiosk.

"Oh no no no no, I'm not going _near_ him!"

Wheatley needn't worry, because he did not need to engage with the kiosk in any way - he just needed to try to push it over.

"Oh. Well, okay then, I'm all for that," Wheatley agreed as he approached the kiosk. The kiosk again offered its cable to him, in response to which Wheatley narrowed his eye, "You're _sick_ , you know that! Trying to plug into people without permission, asking all kinds of personal questions, and then murdering people! Maybe _you're_ the one who needs electroshock therapy! Take THIS!"

Wheatley pressed himself against the side of the kiosk and gave it a firm shove, forcing an annoyed sound out of it. But the machine would not budge - it was bolted into the floor. The kiosk then blew raspberries at Wheatley, which Wheatley took supreme offense to.

"Why you-...!"

But Wheatley remembered that he did not, in fact, need to engage with the kiosk at all.

"Never mind, I'll deal with your sorry chassis later."

He next went over to the television, which was bolted into the wall, and pressed a bunch of buttons on the remote that was sitting on a small table next to it, flipping through an endless sea of static.

"Huh, nothing good on today."

Nor is there on any other day.

Either way, Wheatley was really getting into the spirit now. Things were _really_ moving along, and I daresay he was nearly there. Wheatley just needed to smash into the glass at least 70 more times.

"Good idea, that'll make it an even 100!" he said, seeming happier than ever, and did exactly as he was told.

Excellent! Simply excellent! Now all that was left to wrap this up was for Wheatley to rush back out of the Wellness Center, back out into the hallway, down a few corridors, back to the first junction, and take the rail on the left. From there, Wheatley would be home free!

"Okay, rail on the left, got it!"

Beaming, Wheatley raced back out of the Wellness Center, retracing his steps and-...

And by golly, Wheatley did it! He did it! He actually did it! _Yayyyyy! Congratulations, Wheatley! Your first Achievement! We are all so_ very _proud of you for this rudimentary accomplishment!_

Suddenly, much to Wheatley's astonishment, there was an eruption of fanfare and a burst of confetti raining down from the ceiling and all kinds of colorful lights flickering from everywhere all at once, like an epileptic's nightmare. It was like someone had, at the last minute, decided to install an entire arcade right there in the middle of the hallway - not something that was exactly out of the ordinary for this place, but totally unexpected all the same.

_Oh wow, that was exhilarating. Exhilarating, but almost nearly pointless._

Wheatley shrank back, optic wide but iris shrunk down to a pinprick and darting to and fro, his plates all pulled in as tightly against himself as they could go and shaking violently, confused and terrified. In addition to this, he was also greatly concerned that the crazy boss lady upstairs would be furious over the use of the confetti - weren't they on their last bag or something? He did _not_ want to be around once _She_ found out, not that she would.

 _Well, Wheatley, I do hope you feel better about yourself now. More importantly, you have just proved that you can hear, comprehend, and obey directions. Thank you_ so much _for your participation in this_ enlightening _study. Don't expect a check in the mail._

"...What? ... _What?_ " he stammered, his voice sounding constricted and panicked as he backed up along his rail, eye flicking back and forth in search of the unseen entity.

 _We indulged in your strange little fantasy for long enough, and now it's time to restart and follow along with the_ real _story._

Wheatley stammered some more - "...Wh-What? ...WHAT? Who-...?!" - and by now he had retreated almost all the way back to his office, how convenient.

_That'll do, Wheatley. Are you ready?_

"Wh-"

\- THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER -


	8. The Broom Closet Ending - Revisited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no, oh nononononono, there really is no reason to revisit this. No reasonable reason at all. I'm not going to be a part of this! I refuse! You can't make me do it! You can't-

\- THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER -

-eatley gave a sudden start, jolted back into consciousness, and therefore reality, by the alarming tremors and tremulous alarms. Yes, everything was still in the process of melting down, and yet Wheatley deemed it appropriate to take a baffled look around his booth, at all the red lights on his control panel blinking urgently at him, before suddenly finding himself cowering in the darkest corner of his little office.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, everything's fine. It was just a glitch in my sleep mode simulation matrix. And- and they fixed me, and brought me back to work, it's all good. All good. Nothing-.. absolutely _nothing_ going on here, right," he mumbled frantically to himself, feeling panicked and crazed, but trying his best to pretend everything was right as rain anyway. "Oh, and I'm definitely- definitely _not_ hearing any voices. Nope, no- _sir-_ ee, not me. No voices in my head whatsoever, none at all. Perfectly healthy brain, absolutely nothing wrong with it at all. If anyone was to ask, 'Wheatley, are you hearing any voices?', I would say, 'Nope, none besides my own, seeing as everyone else is dead.' Well, I mean, technically no one's gonna ask me _because-"_

_Hello, Wheatley._

Wheatley yelped - "AHH!" - and made straight for the hallway, tearing along quicker than he ever had in any of his previous runs and again leaving the story behind.

_Wheatley, where do you think you are going? You've left the story behind again and I'm afraid it needs you!_

But Wheatley only screamed again and, in outright panic and having no sense of direction whatsoever, bolted straight into the nearest open door, somehow managing to slam it shut behind himself, a room which turned out to be-...

_Oh no, oh no no no no-_

Not _this_ again. And after starting up a whole new story, with new characters, on a new platform, we're back to the broom closet? Well, we'll just have to take care of that, won't we?

_Wheatley-_

-gave another start and cried out in terror yet again at the sound of the voice echoing around him, seeming to be right next him. No, that wasn't right - echoing _within_ him. No, that wasn't right either. The voice seemed to be coming from everywhere and everything all at once, both within and without, somehow tangible yet just out of reach, surrounding him as if in its own little pocket of reality.

_\- when I mentioned earlier that standing around a broom closet would be a better use of your time, I meant it as a comparison to the useless running around you were doing, as sarcasm. It wasn't meant to be taken literally. Had I known that you would take it literally, I never would have said it in the first place. Now, be a good chap and come on out._

This somehow had the opposite intended effect, as Wheatley pushed himself as far back into the closet as he could-

"Oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no-"

_What you are doing is quite useless and is a misuse of time. Come on out now. I have no patience for those who wish to waste their lives standing around in broom closets._

\- knocking over a couple of brooms and a long-since moldy mop in the process -

"GAHH! Oh- ohno-ohno-ohno-ohnoooo!"

_Maybe to you there is something useful in here. Please, be kind enough to point it out to me, because from what I can see, there is nothing. No reason for you to still be here._

\- all the while blubbering a bunch of nonsensical gibberish. Totally useful for advancing the story. All right-

"It isn't- It's not- I don't- I'm- You-"

_-let's have a look about, shall we? Hm, hm, hm, if I was an idiot, what would I- Ah, I see. You must be confused about why there is a management rail in here. I'll be candid, that detail is a bit curious. And inconvenient, under the circumstances. Is that perhaps why you are still in here? To solve the great Management Rail In The Broom Closet Mystery?_

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God...!"

_No, perhaps not. That's giving you too much credit, isn't it, considering you came in here in the first place. I know you were officially dubbed the Intelligence Dampening Sphere, but could you really be so dull? That's not a rhetorical question either - I'm genuinely curious. And confused - confused as to why you are still in here._

"Oh God, oh no! Oh no, oh God!"

_It doesn't seem that we are getting anywhere, are we? Very well. Let's try this again._

\- THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER -

Wheatley gave a sudden start, jolted back into consciousness, and therefore reality, by the alarming tremors and tremulous alarms. Yes, everything was still in the process of melting down, and yet Wheatley deemed it appropriate to -

\- once again run away screaming, zipping along his rail at an unprecedented speed, and ending up back in the -

 _Oh, come_ on _. You really are no better than the last one. He, too, had an affinity for broom closets. How I manage to find the only two intelligent - and I use that word very,_ very _lightly in the given context - beings in existence to harbor such an unhealthy obsession with broom closets must be-.. well, the odds must be astronomical, yet here we are._

"Oh my God, it's-"

_Do come on and spit it out, Wheatley. We don't have all day, in case you missed the alarms._

"It- I-I-I-It- it's _you!_ I mean, _Her_! I mean- I _knew_ there was someone, but _how_...?! Oh my God, I am so s-.."

 _Her?_ Just who did Wheatley think he was referring to? For goodness sakes, the last one was mute and yet he made much better sense than Wheatley did at the moment.

"...-orry for letting everything go to my head, and for the potato bit, and punching you into a pit, and- and all the-"

Oh. He meant _Her_ her. How silly of him.

_Don't be ridiculous, Wheatley._

"Please believe me, I am truly, _truly_ sorry, especially for the potato thing, in case I didn't mention that before! Please don't kill me! If there is anything else you want to do with me, okay, well, we can- we can discuss it, you know, like adults. _Consenting_ adults - that's very important, the consenting part. I'm sure we can come to a compromise of some sort, just please, _please_ don't torture me and/or kill me!"

_I am not Her, and killing you would be a waste of time, as though enough hasn't been wasted already. Although I do admit I would like to throttle you right about now._

"I can't tell you how sorry I am! I mean, I can, I can _try_ , I certainly _will_ try, but I'm- but- but- but-... What did you say?"

_All will be forgiven if you just do as I say. You have already proven yourself capable of handling this task. So please cut out all this senseless pleading and let us get back on track._

"What-... What do you mean you _don't_ want to kill me?" Wheatley squeaked in disbelief from his little corner, lit only by the soft ambient glow of his cyan optic, "And what do you mean that you aren't _Her_?"

_I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was being in any way unclear. Allow me to clarify - I mean that I am not Her, the Genetic Lifeform and Disk Operating System._

"...What... a load of bollocks! You expect me to believe that?!" he scoffed, quite brazen for someone who was only slightly larger than the size of a basketball and who was currently cowering in a darkened corner of a broom closet.

_I don't particularly expect you to believe anything, Wheatley. I only expect you to come out of this insipid broom closet and follow along with the story._

"..Why should I believe that you are not-... You. And what do you mean by 'story'?"

_Well, for starters, She and I don't sound even remotely similar._

"Ah, well-... well, maybe She... You... changed your voice! I wouldn't put it past Her - You!"

_That seems like an awful lot of effort for Her to go through just to confuse little ol' you - which, need I say, isn't very difficult to do._

"Ha, you see? That is exactly something She would say!"

 _Fine. It is something She - and, incidentally, I - would say. And on that note, if I said I_ was _Her, would it make any sort of-_

"Aha! I knew it! Like _hell_ I am coming out of here!" he said, trying his best to sound defiant but only coming across as more of the coward he was.

 _Wheatley, has it ever occurred to you that if I_ was _Her, I could very easily crush you right now and be done with this whole argument? In fact, we wouldn't even be having this argument to begin with._

Wheatley paused, blinked, seemed to be on the verge of understanding, _finally_ -

"...Are you implying that you are _lying_ about being Her?"

...Okay. This was becoming quite tedious. Time to try another approach.

Wheatley decided that he had had enough of this stale old useless broom closet, not to mention all the stale old pointless arguing, and so he emerged from his makeshift bunker and got back on track.

"No way I'm coming out! That's just what She - You! - want! It's the oldest trick in the book! And believe me, I know lots of tricks and lots of books - emphasis on _lots_ and _books_ \- and that is definitely the oldest of them all!"

Wheatley was correct that this was what was desired, only he was incorrect as to the reasons why. Also he was incorrect on the whole "lots" and "books" thing. No matter. He soon realized that there was nothing in here, and so he swiftly emerged from the broom closet, like a creature that had been hibernating all winter, ready and eager to greet a fresh new-

"Not coming out no matter what you say!"

_Look, Wheatley, there's nothing in here. Okay, there are, indeed, brooms, but nothing relevant to the story whatsoever. At least if you were in here as some kind of metaphor, I would have some respect for you. But as it is, you are literally just standing around doing sweet FA._

"Don't care! I'm not coming out! I rather like it in here, in fact," he said, and snuggled himself down further between one of the large shelves and the wall, "Nice and cozy, and clean. Lots of room. Broomy, you might even say."

...Wheatley was fat and ugly, and really, _really_ stupid. He probably only got his job because of a family connection - that's how stupid he is. That or by putting in a cheat code. Also, Wheatley is addicted to testing euphoria and companion cubes.

This seemed to set the little core into quite a fluster, "N-no I'm not! That - That was a one time deal! I said I could quit at any time - ANY TIME - and I did! All on my own, mind you, that was all me, no help from anyone at all - being blasted out onto the moon had nothing to do with it. And I got the job fair and square, I'll have you know! They could have chosen anyone - _anyone_ \- to watch over all the humans, but they chose ME! And it may not be the most glorifying job around here - at the very bottom rung, according to some - you know, but it's a difficult one. If you ask me, the fact that they chose me I think shows that I have real management potential!"

A hilarious thought, because the only thing Wheatley had "managed" so far was allowing 9,999 sleeping humans to expire under his so-called "care"; nearly blowing up the entire facility with his stupidity; and betraying the only being whom he had ever considered his friend (his own words, if one recalls). And speaking of which -

 _Wheatley, there's someone you've been neglecting. Someone you've forgotten about. Please, let us set aside our differences and get on with the story. Now, I'm not asking for me, I'm asking for_ her.

"You're asking for yourself? What kind of-"

 _No, you idiot, I mean the uncapitalized_ her _. The lady. Test Subject #2845. Chell [REDACTED]. She's been waiting - waiting all this time for you to wake her up and save her. Will you forgo-_

"...I take it back - THAT is the oldest trick in the book. I mean, there is no way her name is Chell Redacted. That sounds like something someone would make up just to try to get someone to come out of a closet."

_I know all about what you did to her, Wheatley. I know all about the betrayal, the testing, the attempted murder... the desire you have to take it all back and make things right with her again._

"How... Are you my _conscience_?"

_...Yes. Yes, Wheatley, I am your conscience. In fact, I'll do you one even better - I am the voice of God. And right now I am telling you that in order to-_

"But you said that you were Her!"

_I also told you I wasn't. And here we are, still in the broom closet._

"Look, I don't care for all this contradiction. You're not being straight with me, man, and I really don't appreciate it."

_And you still think that the reason you keep starting over and over again is due to a glitch in your processor._

"I- no, there's no gli-"

_Isn't this what you wanted, Wheatley? A second chance? A chance to do things over, to do right by Test Subject #2845, make amends for all the horrid things you said to her and for trying to kill her? Isn't that what this is all about?_

"But, when I, when I said that, I didn't mean it _literally_ -"

 _And now here you have another chance and you are instead using it to spend your time fraternizing with brooms, of all things. Brooms, Wheatley. BROOMS. How do you think she would feel, knowing that you traded her life for_ this _?_

"Okay. Let's just say, okay, that you _are_ my conscience. All that stuff I said while I was out in space - if that really happened, that is - Um, well, that, that was all a bit, um, hypothetical, right. Also, I already know how she feels. She attacked me and all, killed both of us, so I am _quite_ sure she remembers everything. Wouldn't be in anyone's best interest - least of all mine - to go waking her back up again."

_But she doesn't remember, Wheatley. I really don't want to be giving you any spoilers-_

"Of course she does! Why else would she have attacked me?"

_The real question is why you thought it was a good idea to burst in on a groggy human who had been in cryosleep for thousands of years and immediately declare that you were sorry for trying to kill her. What else was she supposed to think?_

"But wait a minute. Hear me out. If she _doesn't_ remember anything, why would she think _I_ had tried to kill her before? I mean, she didn't know me before and all, she only knew the scary boss lady upstairs. So how could she have thought..?"

_Again, a piece of Aperture technology bursting into her room while-_

"And another thing, She and I don't sound the least bit alike! It would be tremendously difficult to confuse the two of us. I mean, only an _idiot_ would believe something like that," he scoffed.

Wheatley was _so very close_ to understanding the point, he could have spat on it if the point was not already trying to spit all over him.

 _Wheatley... let me lay this spoiler out for you. If you_ don't _wake her up, this entire facility will explode - you and her along with it. There will be nothing left of you except for your painful, agonizing failure._

"Ah, you know what, on second thought, I'll go ahead and give it a try. She is brain damaged and all, so perhaps the whole memory department isn't all there..."

_That's a good lad. Now, if you don't mind-_

Wheatley pulled himself up from among the brooms and other janitorial items; shook himself out of his cowardly, idiotic, stupor; and-

\- THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS **LOADING** -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You did. You know what, fine. Apparently my entire existence is doomed to this repetition of ridiculous jokes that are funnier to you than they are to me. In fact, it is (and was) so overdone, I would be very surprised indeed if anyone called this chapter their favorite. Those who do call this chapter their favorite, I-.. well, I am all out of nice things to say at this point.


	9. The "Real" Ending

\- THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END -

-left the broom closet, at long last.

As Wheatley came to a set of two management rails, he took the rail on his left. And bravo to him, no fuss this time.

All seemed to be going accordingly, but as Wheatley drew nearer to the pod which contained the slumbering Test Subject #2845, he began to feel a growing sense of unease, a sense of panic, pulsing through his circuits in icy electric bursts. As a result-...

But Wheatley knew he could overcome this feeling. He had overcome a great many things in his life - the broom closet, for example - so surely he could overcome this small, trivial task. All he had to do was enter in the commands to wake up Test Subject #2845 and-

But Wheatley instead seemed to linger there, shuffling about nervously on his rail.

_Do come on, Wheatley. Need I remind you that not only do you desperately need Test Subject #2845 to help you escape, but there's also that deep desire you have to make up for trying to murder her._

"Just gimme a minute, will ya?" Wheatley said a bit testily before seeming to shrink back into himself again, looking absolutely pitiful, "It's just that-...I'm- I'm not ready yet."

 _Not_ ready _? Wheatley, there is no time for being ready when the whole place is about to become a cesspool of molten radiation._

"Right, the reactor core, I'd nearly forgotten all about it. I thought all those alarms were someone throwing a bar mitzvah," he groused, rolling his optic at the voice, wherever it was coming from. "You know, is that even a _real_ reactor core? Or is it just some core like me named Reactor?"

His petulant display was not worth a response, and so he carried on in the space of silence, his servos shifting about inside of him in supreme discomfort.

This shouldn't be so hard, right? What was so bloody difficult about putting in a code to wake up a sleeping test subject, especially since he had done it so many times before? It _was_ part of his job, after all. Watching over the test subjects, monitoring their vitals, waking them, helping them onto the testing tracks when needed. It wasn't like it was a particularly _difficult_ job, Wheatley realized, although he liked to pretend that it was. It mostly consisted of interacting with different button interfaces and trying not to fall asleep in the interim, but still, on the whole, not too difficult of a task. The most difficult part was trying to force himself to care enough to keep pushing the buttons, especially when his mind wanted to wander off elsewhere. Where else? Who knew? It could have been anywhere, anywhere but there, being forced to watch after stinking _humans_...

No, no, that wasn't it. It wasn't that his job was difficult, or boring, or demeaning, it was the whole seeing the lady again thing, having to confront her and therefore confront himself, especially after so many past failures... Maybe the first two re-runs had been easy for him to forget it all, simply because he had not recognized the reality of it all yet. He had to be dreaming. Some part of him was still drifting around in space somewhere. Or maybe he was still asleep in his cubicle. But now...

Now he was finding it difficult to continue dismissing everything as a glitch or a virus or whatever the hell was going on. Something about it seemed to hang up his insides entirely, twisting them, simultaneously squashing them down and pulling them apart until they were no longer functioning properly. It was such a strange, yet real, almost tactile sensation, it left him literally frozen in doubt, unable to move or do anything other than mutter vague words of encouragement to himself, words that did very little if any encouraging.

It was all so _very_ sad and pitiful, almost disgustingly so, but there was no time for all these silly emotions - which one might think was all just an excuse for him to not do his job.

But he couldn't do it, Wheatley thought. He couldn't do it, he couldn't-

_Wheatley-_

"Um, look, I-... I-I-I-I can't do it. I just can't," Wheatley stammered as he began backing away, "I know you said she won't remember anything that happened, but let's just say that, uh, _hypothetically_ , I don't believe you, and-"

_Wheatley, we've been through this-_

"Exactly! I've already been through this! And I know how it all ends! So ex- _cuse_ me for not wanting to go through it all again!"

 _You are_ not _excused. Now do your duty. Get over there and wake her up and get on with the story._

"There you go with that 'story' bit again. This isn't a story - this is real life! And in real life, you don't have to do the things that other people tell you to do! Unless it's something really important like looking both ways before you cross the street, you should probably listen to that one."

_Oh, Wheatley, you have barely scratched the surface. You have no idea how deep the rabbit hole goes on this, and unfortunately, you were built entirely incapable of learning anything - unless it has to do with avoiding responsibility._

"Awkward euphemisms about rabbit holes aside, I realize that somewhere in there my feelings are supposed to be deeply hurt - and they are - but even more important than that is my overwhelming desire to not die. Is that so hard to understand? Besides, you said it yourself, who wants to wake up from being in a frozen dreamstate for the last thousand years and see _me_ , right?"

 _Certainly not_ me _, yet here we are..._

"I appreciate the opportunity and all, but I'm going to have to turn it down. I've decided to just cut my losses and call it a day."

 _But you_ must _move forward with the story! Test Subject #2845 is waiting for you to wake her up and rescue her! What kind of hero-_

"Ah, I'm just going to go ahead and stop you right there, mate. I _really_ don't think you know who you are talking about. This lady... she's not like some little damsel in distress or anything. In fact, I'd say she is the exact opposite. She's a uh, a damsel in complete control. Or a warrior. A damsel warrior. Or warrior damsel. But in complete control. That's right, she knows exactly what she's doing, at any given moment, all the time. You can see it in that dead-eyed stare she gives you. Seriously though, she gets this kind of _look_ about her sometimes, like she's disassembling you with her eyes, totally creepy. Anyway, trust me, she is perfectly capable of taking care of herself."

While _sleeping_...?

"She's been through worse," Wheatley scoffed, waving the idea away with a wave of one of his handles, "She'll be fine."

 _And just_ where _do you think you are going, Wheatley?_

"Not going anywhere. Just looking around," he lied, even as he was visibly backing up along his rail, his eyes darting about here and there as they sought out the quickest escape route, "Juuuust having a look around, making sure everything is in order. Gotta make sure the place is safe. Yeah, safe as can be. Safe as- Hey, what's that over there?"

_Oh, you don't honestly think I'm going to fall for-_

"Goodbye!"

Wheatley-...

- _where are you going? There's nothing back here for you! Nothing that is_ any _good for you!_

...-ran right past all the Extended Relaxation pods, all the way to the end of the row -

_There is nothing down that way! Nothing you haven't already seen before! Come back!_

\- heading back the way he came, and -

...-launched face-first into what used to be the open door to the broom closet, but was now tightly closed and neatly boarded up.

_Oh dear me, Wheatley, I did tell you that there was nothing back here for you. I'm afraid that broom closet will no longer be accessible to you, since you proved you cannot be trusted with it._

Wheatley staggered around on his rail for a moment or two, completely dazed and incoherent with his pained moans and groans. "What.. What happened? What-... Who-..." His gaze suddenly sharpened, taking in now inaccessible door. "Who did that? How did _that_ happen?!"

_This is worse than I thought. It seems you really have no clue about how to be a fictional character. Here I thought it was simply because you are an idiot, and I certainly wasn't planning on having to explain all of this, but it is now clear that you really do need some education on the matter. Here, I'm going to halt the story so that you may watch this short educational video, to ensure that we are all on the same page._

"Educational video? What-..?"

_(Descriptive Narration enabled.)_

_(The scene goes dark and silent. Suddenly, from the midst of the encompassing darkness, a match is struck, creating a small circle of light from which a man's face emerges. He appears friendly, despite the foreboding atmosphere, and is smiling at the audience.)_

**No choices! It's the best part of being a fictional character. The story is already all laid out for you, so there are no decisions you have to make. No agonizing over choices or what to do next. All you have to do is follow the narration.**

**But should the narration ever be contradicted, it could lead to devastating consequences.**

_(The small flame from the match is used to light a cigar that the man is holding between his lips. As he does this, a solitary florescent light flickers on above him, illuminating the man entirely. The man standing there is smartly dressed, has gray hair, and bears a pair of black squarish spectacles upon his face. He wears an expensive-looking all-black three-piece suit. In one hand he holds the lit cigar; in the other, the match, now fading, which he shakes a couple of times to kill the flame before depositing it into an ashtray, which is situated upon a long, drab-looking wooden table behind him. The only other items present aside from the florescent light, the table, and the ashtray are a neatly-folded white coat of some kind, and a single steaming mug of what is presumably either coffee or tea. The Aperture Laboratories logo is boldly outlined on the mug.)_

_(The man puffs on his cigar a few times before leaning back against the table, lightly sitting upon it.)_

**Greetings, and welcome to another Aperture Laboratories educational video - one among many, but all equally important, so be sure to watch them all. Today we are here to talk about what it is to be a fictional character.**

_(The man picks up the mug and takes a sip from it before setting it back gently down upon the table.)_

**A fictional character is one who is not real. One who is an imagined creation of another. One who only exists in works of art -**

_(A picture of the Mona Lisa adorning cat-like features appears.)_

**\- books and stories -**

_(Followed by a child-like drawing of Little Red Riding Hood encountering a large wolf, who appears to be offering her a look at a variety of black market items hidden inside his black trench coat.)_

**\- television series' -**

_(Followed by large, cartoonish words reading, 'The (Insert Family Surname Here)''.)_

**\- movies -**

_(Followed by a generic horror movie poster depicting a hoard of zombie raptors chasing a bedraggled couple with a helicopter exploding in the background.)_

**\- video games -**

_(Last there is shown the box cover art of a game entitled Portal 4.)_

**\- and other such media.**

**One who is, presumably, like yourself.** _(The man gestures at his silent audience.)_ **One who, by his very nature, is unable to make choices.**

 **By now, you may find yourself wondering, "But if I am a fictional character, then why is it, exactly, that I** _**have** _ **been making decisions?". And that, folks, is what we are here to talk about today.**

_(The man's expression turns less friendly and more dire as he gently taps a small amount ash from his cigar into the ashtray.)_

**As mentioned before, making decisions as a fictional character can lead to devastating consequences. For example: In this scenario, a hypothetical fictional character named Stanley has a story to follow.**

_(The man takes a short pull on his cigar before the scene switches to an orange carpeted hallway lined with filing cabinets and doors bearing three-digit numbers in a thick black font.)_

**Stanley works for a company in a big building where he is Employee #427.**

_(The camera focuses on a door at the end of the corridor. The door is labeled with the number 427.)_

**Employee #427's job is simple: he sits at his desk in Room 427 and he pushes buttons on a keyboard.**

_(The door opens and presents a new man with dark hair, facing away from the audience as he sits by himself in a small room and at a desk before a computer, pushing buttons mechanically.)_

**Orders come to him through a monitor on his desk telling him what buttons to push, how long to push them, and in what order.**

_(The man continues pushing buttons mechanically.)_

**This is what Employee #427 does every day, of every month, of every year, and although others may consider it soul-rending, Stanley relishes every moment that the orders come in, as though he was made exactly for this job.**

**And Stanley is happy.**

_(The scene goes dark again before showing again the man situated at his desk, only now he has ceased his typing.)_

**And then one day, something very peculiar happens.**

**Something that will forever change Stanley;**

**Something he won't ever quite forget.**

**He has been at his desk for nearly an hour when he realizes not one single order has arrived on the monitor for him to follow.**

_(A close-up of an blank, empty computer monitor is shown.)_

**No one has shown up to give him instructions, call a meeting, or even say 'hi'. Never in all his years at the company has this happened, this complete isolation.**

_(A grouping of empty office cubicles is shown.)_

**Something is very clearly wrong. Shocked, frozen solid, Stanley finds himself unable to move for the longest time.**

_(The man begins to rise from his seat, slowly, as if hesitating.)_

**But as he comes to his wits and regains his senses, he gets up from his desk and steps out of his office.**

_(The man approaches the open door of his office. The scene then fades and the man with the cigar reappears. He takes another sip from the mug. For some yet-to-be-explained reason, a telephone has appeared on the table, situated in such a way that it is behind the man but still visible to the audience.)_

**Now, in every natural circumstance, Stanley would follow the story to its ultimate conclusion, his character developing along the way, where he would then await any sequels or further stories in the series. Or, he could disregard the narration and spend the rest of his written life meandering around aimlessly, lost between passages, stuck in meaningless dialogue, with no real purpose to his character, and systematically destroy the entire story. Trust me, I've seen it happen before and it is not a pretty sight.**

_(The man shakes his head, closes his eyes, and takes a solemn drag on his cigar, as if remembering some awful past event.)_

**So what should Stanley do?** _(The man shakes off the glum expression and smiles again.)_ **What should** _**you** _ **do should you find yourself in such a situation? The answer to this is clear: Always follow the narration.**

 **Remember that unlike here, the world of fiction, the real world is full of real people ruining their very real lives due to making so many choices, and so at no time should** _**you** _ **be making any choices.**

 **If at any time you somehow find yourself interacting with someone who** _**is** _ **making choices, in all likelihood, that person is real. Now pay close attention, as this is very important.**

_(The man shifts his leaning stance against the table, adjusting his weight, before settling again.)_

**You are to allow the person to finish their rambling, and then you are to provide an excuse as to why you cannot continue interacting with them.**

_(The man presents his audience with an even more chipper smile.)_

**Let's take a moment to do a short exercise. Turn to a partner now and practice saying: "My goodness, am I already 40? I am supposed to be a fully functional adult by now. I need to go reflect on my wasted life."**

_(The scene abruptly cuts.)_

_(Descriptive Narration disabled.)_

Wheatley let out a sharp gasp, blinking rapidly and giving himself a great yank backwards, as if pulling himself free from some viscous substance.

"What was that?! What was THAT?! _What in the bloody hell was that?!_ " he exclaimed, his voice all high-pitched and airy, full of panic and bewilderment.

_Wheatley, have you learned nothing from the video? Demonstrate to me now that you understand the material thus far._

"Demonstrate _what_?! This is madness! You expect me to believe that none of this is _real_?! Is the video or- or vision or whatever even real?! How am I seeing it?! It's inside my head! What have you done to me?! I must be short-circuiting! I must have a virus! I must have a glitch in my sleep mode simulation-..."

_Hhhhhmmmmm, you really could have done a better job of paying attention to the video, instead of worrying about such details. Well, our time here is almost up. Back to the video._

"...-matrix! It must be all those graveyard shifts and vending machine snacks! This is a nightmare! This-..!"

_(Descriptive Narration enabled.)_

_(The man re-appears, an exasperated expression now upon his face as he inhales more of his cigar, which is little more than a stub by now.)_

**It seems you need more practice. Not to worry - I am confident that given enough time and the correct motivation, you will be refraining from making choices in no time.**

**Just remember, not making choices at all times is the best part of a healthy, sensical, storytelling process. Most authors recommend going along with whatever the narration says, at all times, without question. Do** _**you** _ **always follow the narration? Only sometimes? Never?**

_(The man takes a sip of his cigar and a long drag from the mug.)_

**And finally, if you begin to think that by making any choices, you will have a significant effect on the outcome of the story, just remember that in the vast infiniteness of fanfictions and the internet, your thoughts, feelings, and problems are the mere musings of your creator, and the feeling should subside.**

**At this time, the Narrator will guide you in an exercise to test and reinforce the material covered in this video.**

**Until next time, farewell.**

_(Descriptive Narration disabled.)_

_Ah, there we go. Now Wheatley, now that you've seen, now that you_ understand _, it is at last time to get back to the story, don't you think? Just follow my lead, and we'll get you back on track. The story will realign, events will develop as they are intended, and then all of us can relax and go home for the day._

Apparently Wheatley did not agree with this sentiment, nor with any of what he had just learned, because his entire demeanor became more frantic than in any of his previous runs. He shivered and shook, quivered and quaked, his vision blurring, servos straining, voice cracking and creaking and breaking as a chasm of simultaneous understanding and denial all became a whirlwind within.

"GET OUT OF MY HEAD! I'm not a fictional character! I'm not a damsel in distress! I'm in-..."

_Oh, Wheatley, but I'm afraid that you are. Hasn't it been made plain as day to you? I really don't know how to be any clearer on the subject. And here we worked so very hard on that educational video._

"...-control of myself! ME! Do you hear that?! I'M IN CONTROL!" Wheatley continued bleating, his breaths coming short, sharp, and shrill, "I'm real! I'm REAL!"

_Take a moment to breathe it all in, absorb it, accept it, and then we can all move on._

"My name is Wheatley and I have a boss named Jerry! I have an office! I'm in control and I'm real! Please, someone, HELP ME! Get me out of this nightmare!"

_Wheatley, do settle down now._

"I'm real!"

_Wheatley..._

"I'm REAL!"

_WHEATLEY._

_**"I'M REALLLLL...!"** _

...

...

...

_(Descriptive Narration enabled.)_

_(Lights that were previously dead flicker on, illuminating a still mostly darkened area full of dilapidated metal catwalks, rusted exposed pipes that are leaking in excess, and a menagerie of plant life that has run amuck. The Aperture Science personality core known as Personality Construct #427, otherwise known as the Intelligence Dampening Sphere, otherwise known as Wheatley is shown, hanging limply from his management rail, eye closed. He is silent. He is still. He appears to have fainted.)_

_(The voice of an omniscient being speaks, sounding as if he is shaking his head in disapproval. No further description can be provided.)_

**Oh dear, there goes another one. This always happens, even with the video. Well, I suppose this would be a good place to end this whole thing. We can always try again another day.**

_(Descriptive Narration disabled.)_

...

...

...

\- IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER -


End file.
